Shakshouka

I had dinner today at a café called Tmol Shilshom, alleged by Lonely Planet to be a place where homosexuals hang out. Seemed like as good a way to decide where to eat as any. I ordered a dish called shakshouka, two eggs, soft-cooked with a kind of stew of eggplant and tomatoes (at least that was the version I had—there were other options, all centered on the eggs), served in the miniature wok in which it was cooked. It was OK: the eggplant was tasty, the tomatoes were tasty, the eggs were eggs. But even if I had the various components in the same bite, it didn’t really blend together to form a coherent dish; it seemed more like a bunch of different flavors thrown together. Based on 24 hours here, that’s how I feel about Jerusalem too.

The trip here went as well as can be expected. Although Turkish Airlines forced me to check my bag, they managed to deliver it to Tel Aviv on the same flight as me, so I can’t complain. Seven hours in the Istanbul airport was not the most exciting way to spend a Saturday, but it could have been worse. At least there was a Starbucks. Upon arrival, I cruised through immigration with very few questions. I headed outside to the sherut, shared taxis to Jerusalem. I told the gruff gentleman the name of my hotel in the Old City, and he indicated he knew where it was. 45 minutes or so later, he pulled over at a major intersection, and told me we were there. I explained that no, my hotel is inside the Old City, to which he replied “no cars in the Old City (STOOPID!).” Oh, right, I knew that.

Luckily, I had spent enough time studying the maps in Lonely Planet to know that if I followed the sign to Damascus Gate, I’d be able to find the hotel. Sure enough, I found the gate and walked into the walled city. And sure enough, there were no vehicles. The “roads” in the Old City—at least in the Muslim Quarter, where my hotel is—are extremely narrow, often covered, lined with shops and jam-packed with people. It’s more like a market than a street. After checking in, I took a little walk but saved the major exploring for later. The Lunesta on the flight from New York to Istanbul didn’t do much, and I needed to get to bed.

In the morning, I managed to sleep quite late, and then headed out. Objective #1: coffee. Lonely Planet said my hotel had a good restaurant, so I asked the woman at the desk about breakfast. “No breakfast during Ramadan (STOOPID!).” Oh right, I knew that. I guess coffee can wait. When they say “Muslim Quarter,” they mean it. This section of the city is all Muslim, so although the stores were open, and even selling food, there was no sign of an open café or restaurant.

Every year on Yom Kippur, there’s a whole section in the afternoon when they talk about the rituals performed on Yom Kippur at the ancient Temple. I find it somewhat interesting, but never took it very seriously, kind of like reading an anthropological account of an ancient cult performing a ritual sacrifice. Because that’s what it was! And sometimes the rabbi will talk about some metaphor or another that strikes her, or will talk about how we evolved Jews have moved beyond that kind of primitive worship. And I knew that the Western Wall is important because it is the remaining wall holding up the Temple Mount, so it’s the closest we can come to visiting the actual Temple that was destroyed by nasty conquerors twice, most recently about 2,000 years ago. And I know all about sticking pieces of paper in the wall, praying at the wall, etc. To me, this was all still about a fascination with the history, even a connection to our ancestors through that history. But when I got there, it hit me: These people think they’re closer to G-d because they’re standing in this place! Really! They think their prayers are more likely to be heard if they say them standing at this Wall than if they say them across town, or on the Upper West Side. They really believe this.

From the Wall, I headed up to the Temple Mount itself, which is now dominated by the Dome of the Rock and the al Aqsa Mosque. First I had to pass a sign informing me that the Chief Rabbinate of Israel forbids Jews from treading on the Temple Mount because it is holy ground. Specifically, the problem is that we don’t know exactly where the Temple was, and we don’t know the exact location of the Holy of Holies—that section of the Temple that only the high priests could enter, and only on Yom Kippur, see above. So if you walk around the Temple Mount, you might accidentally enter the Holy of Holies, and that would be very bad indeed. Oh, and the Temple was built here because it was on this spot that Abraham was told to sacrifice Isaac (or Ishmael, depending on whose story you’re reading), and then at the last minute, G-d said, “just kidding, kill a goat and circumcise Isaac/Ishmael.” Meanwhile, this is the third most holy site in Islam because Mohammed stopped off there on his way from Mecca to heaven for a chat with Allah.

I decided I’d had enough ancient history, so headed toward Jaffa Gate to get out of the Old City. On the way, though, I stumbled upon the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I don’t know what a sepulchre is, but apparently this is where Jesus may have been crucified… just down the road from the Temple Mount. (Oh, and it’s in the Christian Quarter, so cafés were open—hooray!)

Outside the walls, it’s a bright, beautiful day. The first thing I found was a lovely shopping mall! I strolled through the mall, and through the streets, eventually meandering into the center of Jerusalem. Tourists, Jews, shops, restaurants. It’s nice, but… just not that exciting. What’s remarkable is how very different it is as soon as one gets outside the walls of the Old City. And how segregated the city is—very few Arabs in the western part of town.

After a nice falafel lunch (how could I not?), I strolled up into Mea Shearim, the ultraorthodox (haredi) neighborhood. Mea Shearim runs right up against East Jerusalem, the Arab part of town. The whole city seems to be like that—one neighborhood right up against another, each one for a specific group. Even where the groups come together—haredim walking amongst the secular Jews in the city center, Arab shopkeepers selling to Jewish tourists in the Old City—it feels as if people are living completely separate lives, in several completely different cities, which all just happen to exist in the same place. I felt this way before, but my first day here has confirmed it: the idea that Jerusalem could ever be peacefully run by just one of the many peoples who lay claim to it is completely insane.