"Power" Spots

Graves on the Mt. of Olives: these people will be resurrected by the Messiah first

Do you know the theory about “Power Spots”?  Some people believe that there are places on our wonderful planet where everything seems to happen.  Wars can be fought over the “Power Spots” for no apparent reason.  People congregate in these areas and religions, civilizations, and beauty rise up out of seemingly worthless land.  One of these acknowledged “Power Spots” is the Four Corners Area in the USA where the edges of New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah all meet.  Another such recognized area is Jerusalem. 

View of the Wall Around the Old City

I don’t think I believe this specific theory, but there is some unexplainable magic in Jerusalem that both my mum and I felt.  Nowhere else in the world is it possible to stroll through the streets and see the extraordinary mixing of tourists clutching cameras, orthodox Jews avoiding eye contact, and Arabs smoking nargillah. 

The old city of Jerusalem is like a petri dish.  In bacterial cultures, there are higher concentrations of life and activity than in any normal environment.  This is the same in Jerusalem.  As we entered through the Jaffa Gate into the Arab Market, we could have stepped through a portal into another world. 

Scarves Anyone?

Men yelled their prices, and young boys ran helter-skelter clutching teacups full of sloshing liquid.  The brilliant merchandise spilled from doorways and hung overhead blocking the light.  The filtered sunshine created the sense of permanently falling dusk.  I felt like I was peering into the secrets of some forbidden castle, or like I had wandered accidentally onto private property. 

Made in China...

As we passed each shop, we would be enticed to “come inside and see the fine handmade pillowcases”.  But we never did, we were always on a mission.  Usually, our quest was to leave the sections of the market thronged with eager tourists.  The tourists tended to stay on the main streets where the air was brighter and the exit more obvious.  The stores reflected their customers; they highlighted glitzy jewellery and cloth made by a machine in China. 

Steps Worn Smooth by Thousands of Feet

My mum and I searched out the deserted streets where our muffled footfalls echoed in the shadows.  In these less touristy sections, my mum and I were ignored as we wandered dazedly through the twisting streets.  Men sat and gossiped, hoping for customers, but really more intent on their pipes.  Here, I could take photos without worry of offending some religion, and we could gape at the spices and fabrics without being convinced to buy them. 

Here too, away from the tourists, we found the nicest people.  When we got lost, which maybe took thirty-seconds, I would have always asked the nearest, nicest looking person for directions.  My mother always asked the most interesting person.  She has a talent for creating conversations with complete strangers whom I would shy away from.  I love this skill of hers; I get to listen and learn without actually needing to talk. 

The View of a Very Famous Mosque From the Roof

The Jewish scribe told us how he used to have a store in the Jewish quarter, but the rent was too high so he moved to a stall in the Arab Market where the rent is lower.  Now business wasn’t as good; he said many tourists were afraid to venture here.  He told us how the names of objects in Hebrew represent their characteristics and how to determine which verses from the Torah correspond to people’s names.  In Hebrew, each letter in the alphabet is numbered, so the first and last numbers of your name indicate your own personal verse. 

The Bounties of a Warmer Climate

Three young Arab men gave us detailed instructions on how to climb to the roof of the market and get a spectacular view most tourists miss. Their enthusiasm infected us and we raced to find the stairs, stopping to ask for more directions on the way. 

Some Cinnamon

The “new” city of Jerusalem is just as magical as the old.  I especially loved exploring the Shuk—the biggest outdoor market in the new city.  I love the standards of age in Jerusalem: this market feels young, but it was actually created in 1887, which would be considered ancient in Vancouver.  This market full of bright colours and sounds is where my family in Jerusalem does their shopping.  I am so envious that they don’t have to enter a sterile supermarket every week to buy Persimmons. 

They're Donuts

Upon entry to the market, the smell of exotic spices immediately fills the air and wafts into to our nostrils from the unstable towers of zatar, paprika, and coriander.  Figs and dates are piled unceremoniously in boxes and everywhere people hawk their wares.  The streets of the Suk are crammed with people hurrying to buy fresh sufganiot (jelly donuts for Chanukah), the best persimmons, or simply on an unperceivable mission.  

I Swear, the Halva is Better in Israel

Halva is stacked in appealing configurations or arranged in bulk on shelves.  Halva in Israel is not like the Israeli halva that we buy in Canada.  I think they export their poorer quality products and keep the best for themselves.  I don’t like halva in Vancouver, but I love it here.  I can’t seem to eat enough of it, unfortunately. 

In the Suk, I saw religious Jews mingling with secular people.  The sea of people is a mottled patchwork of long black coats, headscarves, and the bright colours worn by the non-orthodox.  Women walked past with averted eyes and scarves concealing even the smallest tendrils of hair.  Men wore long black coats.  Girls also ambled past with garish piercings and skin-tight jeans.  Men with shaved heads and baggy pants hoisted crates of fruit into stalls.  Here, inexplicably, the two worlds seem to mingle daily. 

Spices of Life

For the outsider, like me, walking past ultra-orthodox male Jews poses a quandary.  I always want to stare at them, as if I am hoping to see a sign that explains their logic that turns women into meek creatures whose role is only to raise children.  However, I don’t stare.  It would be very rude, especially considering that it is against their beliefs to look a woman in the eye.  The other option is to avert my eyes, but then I feel as if they have won, and that I have put myself in a subservient position.  I try to be respectful, but I won’t pander to sexism.  I have decided to ignore them and just steal frequent glances from the corners of my eyes.  This is my act of internal defiance that is (hopefully) still outwardly respectful.