East Jerusalem, An Alien City

I came to Israel with my trusty Tanakh as my only book, though I have since acquired a kindle. My roommate Annie, however, somehow managed to pack an entire bookcase. Annie, being her generous self, has lent me several books throughout the school year, most recently The Amos Oz Reader, a collection of essays from many of Amos Oz's books. A week ago, I read "An Alien City" from Under This Blazing Light, published in 1968. It is mostly reflections on Jerusalem prior to the Six Day War, ending with the reunification of Jerusalem after the 1967 war. While things have changed a lot in the past 63 years and especially in the past 44 years, much of it is still a relatively accurate portrayal of life in Jerusalem today - especially life in East Jerusalem, and the life of an international student.

Thus, I would like to share several quotes from the essay, along with my reflections.

First, on life prior to 1967:

I knew that Jerusalem was surrounded by forces that wanted me dead.

Later I moved away from Jerusalem. I still love the city as one loves a disdainful woman. Sometimes, when I had nothing better to do, I used to go to Jerusalem to woo her.

I liked Jerusalem because it was a city at the end of the road, a city you could get to but never go through, and also because Jerusalem was never really part of the State of Israel: with the exception of a few streets, it always maintained a separate identity, as though it was deliberately turning its back on all those flat white commercial towns: Tel Aviv, Holon, Herzlia, Netanya.

And there was fear in Jerusalem: an inner fear that must never be named or expressed in words, but that gathered, accumulated, solidified in winding alleys and isolated lanes.

All my childhood years were spent in the proximity of streets that must not be approached, dangerous alleyways, scars of war damage, no-man's-land.

And, life after 1967:

My dreams had deceived me, the nightmares were unfounded, the perpetual dread had suddenly been transformed into a cruel arabesque joke.

Jerusalem is mine, yet a stranger to me; captured and yet resentful; yielding, yet withdrawn.

Living in Jerusalem today, one still has this sense of fear, the fear that "the Other" is out to get you. For the Israelis, the fear is of the Palestinians; for the Palestinians, the fear is of the Israelis. Whether or not the fear is founded is another issue. I have lived through a bombing in Jerusalem at the hands of Palestinian terrorists that killed one of my classmates, but I have also lived through the Israeli revenge air strike that took out innocent children in addition to terrorists. I live within walking distance of the security wall. I see how the Israelis have forced the Palestinians out and how they can make their life a living hell just because. While I do not live in fear, I see others around me who do, and the longer I am here, the more muddled the issue becomes. I still support the Palestinians, but I also realize that they are not without their faults, that they have indeed things to warrant, at least on occasion, Israeli fear. And still today, even though the city is "reunified," there is still a sense that there are certain places in the city to which one must not go. Of course, I am stubborn and think that my Americanness will spare me any real harm, so I tend to ignore these unspoken rules, especially when the reasoning is "you can't go to such-and-such place because it is Arab." I fear the Old City vendors more than I fear the Arab neighborhoods.

Even today, I get the sense that Jerusalem is in a league of its own, the capital of Israel and yet still not part of Israel. To be sure, Jerusalem is in its own way a microcosm of the state, a place where the ultra-religious and the wholly secular meet, a place that is sacred to all the monotheistic faiths. It is an interesting city, to be sure, one that I still don't seem to have a handle on, but I always feel this sense of relief when I manage to get out of the city, even just for a few hours. Perhaps it is because I have never really lived in a city. Its very hugeness can be oppressive at times. On a few occasions, I have went out on my own, to the market and once to the Old City. It is a surreal experience. For one thing, riding the bus by myself has always been unsettling, trying to figure out what stop I need, forced to sit by a stranger - or worse, forced to stand and be thrown about like a rag doll. And then knowing how to interact with people, both on and off the bus. Do I say "shalom" to the ultra-orthodox man or do I avert my gaze? Do I make room for the Arab family to pass or do I just ignore them? (Will my politeness be interpreted as a form of racism?) Do I try to speak Hebrew or just ask in English? (For the record, almost always when I ask a question in Hebrew it is answered in English.) While a simple outing can be refreshing, it can also be mentally exhausting.

I think Amos Oz captures the essence of Jerusalem, at least for me. "Jerusalem is mine, yet a stranger to me," and "I still love the city as one loves a disdainful woman." This place has been my home for the past 7+ months, and even though I am counting down the days till I am back in Ohio, back to my real home, I know that I will miss Jerusalem. As frustrating as the city is, there is something about it. Maybe there is something in the water, but the city seems to get in your blood. My heart never quite left Ohio, but I have a feeling that my heart will never quite leave Israel either.