Driving in Jerusalem

I got to drive a couple of days ago—the first time behind the wheel in Jerusalem in over 20 years. It was fun but I needed constant direction. I drove from East Jerusalem, around the Old City walls and through the tunnels to within a minute of the New Wall bordering Bethlehem. It was an exhilarating drive and left me with the feeling of a great accomplishment—but to do it every day, especially during rush hour(s)—no way.

I used to know the city fairly well and move about with little difficulty, but that was then. Jerusalem, in area, now seems ten times as large as I remember, and far more complex; it is spread over an incredibly large area. It is not difficult to see why the Israelis want—and have usurped—so much of East Jerusalem and the West Bank: they want it for their view of Jerusalem development. Their success has not been benign.

As in any major city, especially one as layered with history as Jerusalem, road construction is a constant. Add in the impact of a new metro rail-tram system on traffic and the locals' rather belligerent driving technique, coupled with almost a total disregard of any but the most aggressive traffic regulation, and you have the equivalent of a carefully-orchestrated, incipient demolition derby. Everything works, but no one knows why. Religion must play an important part: drivers evidently trust in divine intervention; passengers rely upon it. Pedestrians are just crazy.

There are only pieces of the original road that I can recognize; they have added tunnels and multi-lane highways to the road system everywhere. I also note that the traffic signals operate on the German system where there is a yellow-light warning of both red and green signals. Funny, they must have had this twenty years ago but I don't recall. Like most things German, it makes sense and should be adopted in the U.S., in my opinion.

Arabs are particularly proud of the new roads they enjoy in most of the cities in West Bank. Some were damaged during the Israeli incursions in the current decade, but enough remain of the new waste-water and sewer systems, and curbed and paved streets to make a sizable beneficial impact on Arab quality of life. I was greatly impressed with the changes in Bethlehem; less so of those in Ramallah. Taybeh, N.'s family ancestral village, has been transformed in the last twenty years. New roads, both to and within the town have made a big difference to residents.

Part of the problem with getting around, especially outside Jerusalem, is the great number and variety of vehicles on the road. There are an astounding number of vans, trucks, motor scooters and cars, and everything else from hand-carts to burros in the Arab towns. It's similar to Hong Kong traffic. How they co-exist is a wonder; that they do so without notice is a testament to Arab patience, tolerance and grace.

Traffic isn't the only source of noise in Jerusalem, of course, but it certainly is a high-percentile reason for the cacophony in the city. Use of the horn is a key driving technique, and is used extensively—especially where it is most annoying. Long gone are the days when you could hear a donkey honk in the peaceful, early-morning hours. Now, you're lucky if you can hear yourself think. I miss the donkey.

Vegetable Shopping

I went vegetable shopping with R. this afternoon. Men do most of the shopping in his society, and they know how to do it. And, they have a variety and quality to choose from that is denied to most Americans. There were racks upon racks of the most delicious-looking fruit and vegetables and other foreign-branded stuff (some a mystery in my experience). In this small, crowded shop, there were more opportunities to eat well that you'd ever find in the largest supermarket in the U.S. I counted six types of eggplant alone, but there were probably more. (Should you think me obsessed of eggplant; in fact, I had some of the smaller ones stuffed with herbs, rice and meat and served in a tomato sauce for dinner last night. They were excellent. You should be so lucky.)

I have realized that vegetables here possess something altogether missing from American shop produce: taste, texture and smell. They're also cheaper. Without natural flavor, Americans compensate by adding salt—which may go a long way to explaining the typically excessive salt intake by Americans. Here, if you want to set your soul on fire, they use herbs and spices. And believe me; they can ignite asbestos if they want to. R. makes a hot-oil with peppers that must be kept in a glass jar. It would eat the nickel out of stainless steel.

Many of the vegetables come from local gardens—Palestine is essentially an agrarian society for the moment, after all—or are imported from other Mediterranean countries such as Turkey. Since it travels less, doesn't come from one of the monster commercial farms, or was genetically engineered to retain color or texture, fruit and vegetables sold in Palestine, when clustered together in a confined space like this grocery we visited, can make you dizzy with their combined perfume.

By the time R. was finished ordering, we had four baskets full of melon, peppers, mangos, herbs, apples, grapes, apricots, plums, potatoes, greens, etc., etc., etc. Checking out was a process of negotiation and weighing; cash was then flashed, change made, and we and two shop helpers were out the door with laden arms. No credit or debit cards—Arabs live a cash economy in Palestine.

The point of all this is that shopping has not changed one whit from my last time here, nor probably has it changed in centuries. The shopping centers and supermarkets are Israeli. On the Arab side there is no antiseptic, artificial environment, no canned music, no smiling clerks in aprons, shopping carts and handle wipes, no self-help checkout or bar code readers. There is no distance between you and the food; you can touch, squeeze, taste, punch and thump it as you will. As is the case with almost every Arab societal activity, the process of shopping for vegetables results in an intensely personal, individual transaction subject to haggling, compromise, promises, resigned acceptance and a deal well done.

The Flight In

We ended up on U.S. Air's 330-200 Airbus from Philadelphia, non-stop to Tel Aviv, after an abortive attempt to make our earlier Continental reservations. We were not able to depart as intended, so Plan B put us on U.S. Air. It was altogether a pleasant trip without incident, perhaps due to my doctor's little magic pink pill to counter my flight-induced panic.

Just as an aside, consider this airplane when you fly. I like Airbus, and although a smaller plane than the 777, it was considerably more comfortable than many of our transatlantic flights. We ended up in the middle two seats toward the back of the plane, bracketed by two pleasant ladies, but have no real complaints of the company we were forced into. The flight was full, and was heavily invested with children. However, even the kid behind me kicking my seat back couldn't get through my pink cloud.

We arrived early morning at Tel Aviv's new (to us) airport, which is as modern, efficient, featureless and lacking in character as any other major airport. We expected some delay in immigration, but this didn't materialize for me. N. however, had to wait almost two hours while the Ministry upgraded 20-year-old files; I sat with the luggage. One of our nephews met the plane and escorted us the moderate distance into Jerusalem. I recognized very little of the route.

If there is one pervasive change I've noted so far it's the urbanization of Palestine. Israel is almost completely built from Tel Aviv into Jerusalem, the latter city now becoming huge without a noticeable improvement in character or beauty. Traffic was fierce, but that deserves separate comment.

I felt a great comfort to be back in Jerusalem after over two decades. I used to know it very well, but while there are aspects that welcomed me, I was also saddened by the loss of quality of life for the Arabs, and the decline in the city's almost rural charm. Much of this will be blogged upon during the time I'm here, but for now, at the beginning, it's good to be back in this truly historic and wonderful place.

Some Explanation

A night scene of Bethlehem

The world has changed a great deal since I last departed Jerusalem at the end of the 1980's. It was in the second year of the first Palestinian Resistance called the Intifada, and the contentious relationship between the authorities and the Palestinians was deteriorating rapidly. Some saw the fighting as a security threat to the Jewish state, some the expression of anger at oppression; some saw an opportunity to advance controversial objectives. You could practically hear the policy gears grinding. Almost everyone saw the Resistance as a threat to social order and that nothing would ever be the same again. Everyone was, in this at least, entirely right.

I don't really want to talk about politics or religion in this Blog other than as an oblique reference in context of an observation. Some may consider this a cop-out, but enough has been written about those topics by people far better qualified than I. Rather, this is a sort of meander through one of the most beautiful and complex countries in the world, that has received far too much attention from far too many people that know far too little about its history, people, culture and ambitions.

This year in Jerusalem

This is a record of my impressions from my first trip back to Jerusalem in over two decades.