Field Notes on the Daily Grind and the Meaning of Jerusalem

We have spent the past three and a half days in Jerusalem and have one more to go.  So, I want to share some observations about this extraordinary place. 

We began our visit here touring the Old City on Monday evening, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning.  We saw, heard, and read all the highlights and it was, as it always must be, amazing.

Then, yesterday afternoon, we visited traveled well beyond the Old City to Yad Kennedy, the peace forest on the city's outskirts where a grove of trees was planted many years ago in memory of my father-in-law, Bill Frank, who died on July 4, 1966 in an automobile accident. Jennifer never had a chance to know her father. So, neither will Ella or Sam. But those trees planted in his honor will always be part of this place. And Ella and Sam honored their grandfather's memory by planting pistachio saplings and reciting a prayer.  This is an important connection to their grandfather and, in turn, to Israel.

The JFK Memorial at Yad Kennedy

Today -- as Ian, Mark, Bryant, and Mary took their day trip to Masada, the Dead Sea, and Ein Gedi -- Jennifer, the kids and I took a short taxi ride over to the Nahalat Shiv'a neighborhood of  West Jerusalem to have lunch and shop for Sam's tallit in the Nahalat Shiv'a neighborhood of West Jerusalem. There, on the small street -- more like an alleyway -- of Joel Moshe Solomon, is a lovely little boutique, Gabrieli Rubin.

The shop had an excellent selection and Sam was fairly clear about what he wanted. What I loved about his process for choosing his tallit was that he was flexible within his general criteria and he sort of let the options provided by the shopkeeper inform his ultimate choice.  In the end, he was very pleased.  When Sam was done, I chose a simple tallit for myself. Jen shopped too but couldn't find quite the right one for herself. This was one of those experiences where you really have to take a step back, while you're doing it, and say to yourself something like: "Wow, I'm in Jerusalem with my family and my child is choosing the tallit that he will wear on his Bar Mitzvah day and for years after that.  Perhaps, when he is old and passes from this life, he will be buried in it (as I hope to be buried in mine in that 'ol pine box when I go to Glory)." 

After the tallit transaction was consummated, we shopped around a bit more.  Ella purchased a very nice "Jerusalem" sweatshirt for her sitter, Belinda, who collects them; and Sam and I tooled around in a Hebrew/English used book store, finding two fine volumes on Jerusalem's history.  One of the volumes had been signed in 1988 by its' co-author, former Jerusalem mayor Teddy Kolek, who was known to be quite the peacemaker in this often troubled city of cities.

Ya want lentils? Mahane Yehuda shuk's got lentils!

For the final portion of the day, we walked northwest on Jaffa Road to the Mahane Yehuda Shuk, which seems to be about 10 times the size of Tel Aviv's Carmel Shuk. This, to us, was real, every day, Jerusalem. When Jen and I used to travel overseas more often, it was in this type of place where we would try to spend a fair amount of time because this type of place gives you a sense of a community's rhythm, of its history; its reality in all its light and darkness. This type of place is, at once, both beautiful and vile. Clean and filthy. Quiet and loud. And it has been this way for centuries. At the shuk, there were very few tourists. Lots of Jews, Muslims, and Christians of every shape, size, color, and manner of dress mixing it up trying to get the best deal possible on every type of commodity: fruits, vegetables, fish, meat, poultry, pastas, lentils, nuts, candies, breads, pastries, textiles, housekeeping products....everything. It was beautiful and amazing.  Fishmongers hollering at the tops of their lungs.  Ultraorthodox families with multiple kids mingling uneasily with Africans and tourists like us. Everyone pushing and shoving. Politeness? We don't need no stinking politeness! Get the hell out of the way and let me place my order!

....or, perhaps a lovely mango?

After making the rounds we sat for a bit,  beyond the rattle and hum, just outside a small, tucked-away hummus and beer joint,  and watched a tradition that has been occurring daily in Jerusalem for at leat 4,000 years. And guess what, there wasn't a tour guide or explanatory sign to be found (and there wouldn't be).  A gaggle of old Jewish men with no teeth had gathered to play and wager on Backgammon.  Now this was interesting. Why?

Ex-Brooklynite rabbi holds court at the shuk. Oy.

The history of Backgammon goes back approximately 5,000 years. It is a game of ancient Mesopotamia, including Ur (now in Iraq), birthplace of Abraham. Excavations at Shahr-e Sokhteh (Persian شهر سوخته , literally "The Burnt City") in Iran have shown that a similar game existed there around 3000 BC. The artifacts include two dice and 60 checkers, and the set is believed to be 100 to 200 years older than the sets found in Ur, and on the board found at Shahr-e Sokhteh the fields are fashioned by the coils of a snake.

So, methinks it quite possible that Abraham, father of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam played and wagered on Backgammon, perhaps in a market like this one, with his buddies, just like these guys. The jingling of the dice in their little jars (I don't know the technical name) was sweet, real Middle Eastern music.

4,000 years plus and still going strong. (Note to USA: We don't need "fixing.")

All of this is to say that, of course, we need the guided tours of the Old City to provide us with perspective.  But, for this Jew, the meaning of Jerusalem is found beyond the walls of the Old City.  Beyond the Western Wall and Al Quds and the Tomb of  Jesus, in the work of arborists who get their hands dirty in Israel's soil made rich with the blood, sweat, and tears of their forebears; and in the ancient daily grind of the tallit sellers, the bookshop clerks, the Mahane Yehuda Shuk merchants, and those ordinary backgammon players.