After almost five hours in a room with more than 10 gorgeous blonde Russian women (the common element between them and me I haven’t found out yet…), waiting to be questioned in a harsh and impolite way things like “Do they pay you for your work ?”, being told off for having gone to the toilet and not been able to eat or drink I finally saw the light blue board “Welcome to Israel”.
Jerusalem is a city in war where God’s followers fight for every inch of the holy perimeter. Don’t expect in Jerusalem, this city overloaded with eternity, the odeons, amphitheaters and forums that you find in other Mediterranean towns. No marbles, no palaces. Don’t expect any architectural Bel Canto.
Its beauty is hidden. In Roma you don’t need a cicerone. In Jerusalem you do. Disappointing to discover the Holy Sepulcher embedded inside the urban cake. No Plaza in front of if, no hindsight. Nothing high or arrogant comes from Biblical times. Instead of glorious domes or bell towers, the heavenly God has digged His cisterns and dungeons deep down. Better bring a shovel than binoculars. The hearing however is better treated. Decibels of Christian carillons overlap with the non synchronized Muslim tapes of the minarets. Not very conducive to contemplation and introspection but magic to my ears, especially when combined with the view of ultra orthodox Jewish families going to the synagogue when the Friday sun sets.
Jerusalem has borders everywhere. Some are visible, “thanks” to the omnipresent Israeli soldiers, but some others are only olfactive. From the old to the new world. From the putrid and aromatic smell to the deodorized world. Prosperity has no odor. Improvised mini barbecues, chicken carcasses and sheep hanging from a hook in the sun…our nose seems to be in the XIV century. But these smells compete with the jasmine, sandal, cinnamon, orange blossom, oregano, saffron… Not to mention the pyramids of onions , tomatoes and multicolour peppers laying on the pavements. The eye frustrated by the prohibition of representations takes its revenge with the nose and the taste buds.
No fancy restaurants on the Arab side but small shops with hideous lingerie. In the Jewish neighborhoods, beautiful art galleries, no empty cans and plastic bags in the streets, no garbage, no barefoot children, no overloaded donkeys. Instead, bilingual schools, Hebrew and English. Clean pavements, barred windows, armed guards. Posh and quite cold. Like in the West World, Israeli streets are a place that individuals use to go out or back home in a hurry but where we don’t stay to sleep or live. Arab streets are living rooms, welcoming and authentic. Two separate urban worlds. Extraversion and exuberance. Introversion and mistrust. Two worlds livingtogether back to back.
One night in the taxi back home, the driver told me: “I’m a Christian. This country is sick. Neither ones nor the others have enough love in their hearts”.
I’m not a Christian. Nobody has to love their enemy, but at least they have to respect them.
