Yesterday, mid afternoon, Chaim and I arrived in Jerusalem for a Shabbat bar mitzvah. We had the name of the hotel and the address -- which was not on a street that sounded familiar. However, we knew it was near the Damascus Gate of the Old City. (For me, that was good enough.)
Chaim is always looking for a short-cut from point A to point B. Whatever the directions provided, he firmly believes that he can do it better. Therefore, instead of doing the obvious thing which was to drive the normal route into Jerusalem, follow the signs to the Old City and then drive around the perimeter until we reached the area of the Damascus Gate, he decided to take a shortcut through the ultra-orthodox area of Mea Sharim.
This is not a place that a car can scoot through on the best of days. The streets are extremely narrow and frequently filled with ultra-orthodox pedestrians who are not that happy to see you if you don't look like them. We do not look like them.
So, when we finally made our way through the ancient, windy streets, Chaim the navigator-who-knows-best, was already in a bad mood. This mood was not helped by the fact that the little map provided on the hotel website was so vague that it was impossible to follow.
I am always prepared to just wing it. I knew we were close and I had the hotel phone number. I also have no problem hanging my head out the window and asking for directions. Chaim, on the other hand, has to chart out the exact course completely before we leave our driveway.
I am sure he thought he knew what he was doing, but this is Jerusalem -- it's an ancient city built well before the idea of city planners was born. Streets wind and weave, and change name arbitrarily.
But the best part is that the Damascus Gate is in East Jerusalem -- a place not known for its road logic or its friendly locals.
For those of you who don't know what I mean, the Damascus Gate is in what is best known to the world as the Arab-dominated part of Jerusalem. The border into East Jerusalem is invisible on one level and screamingly obvious on another level. It is not difficult to tell when you "enter" East Jerusalem -- the scenery changes pretty dramatically and very quickly.
At that moment we both realized that we were spending Shabbat in the Arab part of the city. While this apparently didn't concern our hosts, it didn't leave me with a warm and fuzzy feeling. And it definitely curbed any interest I had in hanging my head out the window in search of directions. My survival instincts had kicked into gear.
All this time the cranky navigator was getting more and more agitated. Finally, after he ignored my last set of correct instructions and got stuck in a traffic jam outside the Gate, I called the hotel for help. And then, within five minutes we had actually arrived at our destination.
You would think that that would be the end of that. But for me, it wasn't. As nice as the hotel was, I couldn't get comfortable with the idea of spending Shabbat in what I consider enemy territory. Oh skip the politics and the rhetoric -- it's not the friendliest place in Israel. Of course, it's not the least friendly place either.
I am not going to replay the entire weekend for you, but obvioulsy if I am writing this, I am still here. The Arab staff in the hotel was very nice. The Arab bus driver who took us the Western Wall was also very nice. The people on the streets when we went for a walk this afternoon were less so, but I still didn't feel that my life was in danger. I don't want to minimize the seriousness of the tensions that exist in Jerusalem and I wouldn't push the envelop to test any theories here. But I do have to dust off my old theory that most people just want to get out of bed, do an honest day's work, feed their families and enjoy their friends.
And maybe all of East Jerusalem isn't a journey to the Dark Side.
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