In the Heart of Jerusalem: Storytelling & Photos

Stories, celebrations, and a whole lot of stones -- let's journey into Jerusalem!

The Western Wall is just about two hours from my apartment. Not bad! What excuse is there to not do a day trip to the Holy City? Hours away but worlds apart.

I hopped on a bus from Rishon LeZion to the train station in Tel Aviv, and then, it was just a little zip south-east to arrive in Jerusalem!

The trains are clean, fast, and efficient. There are beautiful views outside the window, but I am always enamored most with the people-watching. In Jerusalem Yitzhak Navon Station, I always make a pit-stop at the piano. You may never know the talent of the strangers around you until you put a piano in front of them. (I often post live music I find in my Instagram Stories. Are you following me, yet? 😉)

After paying tribute at this public shrine to music, I hop on another bus -- this time toward the Western Wall and the Old City, but first, through the more modern streets of Jerusalem.

My day trip coincided with the last day of Sukkot, a week-long Jewish holiday that commemorates our exodus from Egypt, in which we eat in huts outdoors and, of course, pray.

Thus, I found myself at the Western Wall with the biggest crowds I've ever seen there!

There is a partition that divides the men and women's sections of the Western Wall because, according to Orthodox Judaism, men and women shouldn't pray together, as it distracts them from prayer.

This is always a point of contention for me at any religious gathering. Growing up as a Conservative Jew, I was always next to my family, including my dad and my brother, at religious services. I don't like feeling like an "other." I didn't like witnessing the separation at the Wall, watching women peering over the partition to watch the men's prayer services, which included a demonstration of the Torah. I didn't like that the women's section is significantly smaller and denser than the men's section, especially considering that it presents a safety hazard in the case of an emergency.

Nevertheless, there is a powerful feeling you get from visiting the wall and witnessing others observing and praying. It is a special, meaningful site, regardless of your religious affiliation or degree of devotion.

The beauty of street photography is that it is candid, organic, and natural. I often get "shutter fright" when I try taking photos of strangers, but if I allow the paralysis from over-analysis to stop me from composing the shot and my finger from triggering the shutter, I will miss beautiful little moments. My eye is always working to detect beautiful moments happening around me. I want to share them all with the world. Life is brief. Moments are history. Photography is art. My short legacy is my existence through my art and my eye.

Being one of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of people around me allowed me, for a brief moment, to be invisible. Being invisible shielded me from being scared. Working through fear makes me stronger, a better artist, and a better person.

I wrote a wish on a Post-it note, folded it into a tiny piece, and pushed myself forward toward the wall. A fortress of women with prayer books, many with their heads down, eyes averted, even teary-eyed, prevented me from touching the wall with more than a fingertip. I made eye contact with one woman and asked her to place the note in a crack of stone. She obliged. My task complete and with satisfaction over the time spent people-watching and photographing, I made my way into the Old City.

This was my third time to the Old City. The first time was in 2007. The second last June. The streets are seemingly endless. The Muslim call to prayer was sounding to my right. I headed toward it.

Jerusalem is divided into quarters: the Jewish, Muslim, Christian, and Armenian Quarters.

I traveled alone and kept my wits about me and relaxed as I found that everyone was incredibly friendly (even when they weren't trying to sell me something lol). Security was posted everywhere. Jews and Muslims rubbed elbows in the streets, with people either shopping, eating, or heading toward prayer.

The excitement of Sukkot filled the streets, along with the smell of spices and the chatter of the countless people crossing paths. I strolled through the streets, mesmerized by their ancient aesthetic and charming corners. After taking photos of an alley, I heard someone call me. "Hey. My friend wants you to take her picture." It was an armed police officer at a gorgeous emerald doorway. How could I say no? I would have been too nervous to approach them for a picture, so what an invitation!

A little deeper into the Muslim Quarter...

I smile a lot, which wins people over easily. It also makes it a lot easier to connect with people. I found that many people wanted their photo taken, once they saw my camera. One guy called me over and told me to take photos of his brother. They were working in their hundred-year-old family restaurant. I took photos of the brother (unfortunately, I didn't realize at the time that the composition would make him look armless, but I assure you, he does have arms. 😂), who I, at first, assumed was annoyed with me (or with his brother for forcing him to pose for pictures haha), but then, he invited me eagerly and proudly into the restaurant to show me the chronological series of photos of their family business.

After a short chat, the brother also recommended that I visit the Austrian Hospice across the street, promising me that the rooftop offers one of the best views of the city. He was absolutely right.

The Austrian Hospice has a unique history, having started as a hostel for pilgrims, then being converted into an orphanage, a hospital (it's the hospital where the brother downstairs was born!), and ultimately, a guesthouse again. It also houses a small chapel for those who want to pray.

On the rooftop, I met a Christian couple and baby from Nazareth. We had a pleasant conversation about what life is like in Nazareth and how amazing the rooftop view was. When they left, I met Irina and Ana, from Ukraine. "Hello from Ukraine!" they'd like me to convey to you, readers. :)

After a time well spent on the rooftop and wandering the building and its semi-museum, I made my way back downstairs to the restaurant, thanked the brother for the recommendation, and continued on through the Muslim Quarter.

I don't like being part of a crowd, but if I'm a stone in the river, letting the crowds pass around me, I feel at peace. It is the best way to observe a scene. Well, besides being on the perimeter. Most people paid me no mind. Their feet carried them forward, their eyes merely glancing at me, oftentimes not even more than a glance; my existence perhaps didn't even register with these strangers/neighbors around me.

Colorful, vibrant, lively. The market was full of life. I smiled at a man working at a fruit kiosk. He handed me a bunch of fresh green grapes.

One other man noticed me. Khamis. An older man who seemed to know everyone at the market. "Take our picture," he told me, putting his arm around his friend. I showed him the photo on the back of my camera. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Go get a sandwich from that shop. Tell them I sent you." I declined, but when I circled back around after taking more photos, he stood and walked me, cane in hand, to the sandwich shop. He insisted I take a free sandwich and drink. He wouldn't take no for an answer. I tried to pay the cashier, who also refused my money. Khamis waited for me to exit the shop and made room for me to sit beside him. The only payment he wanted was conversation.

Khamis is retired now, but his career had been in security. He had worked at the mosque and church. When he learned that I'm American, he was excited to tell me that he had seen Jimmy Carter during his presidential visit to Jerusalem in 1979.

Khamis greeted by name countless people who passed by. Whenever they stopped to greet him, he introduced me. "Do you want his picture? Do you want her picture?" he asked me, laughing as I answered, "Yes! Yes!" each time.

There are few people with such a giving, kind heart and generous spirit. I have been finding many in Israel, and Khamis was the biggest gem of them all in Jerusalem. I was surprised by his hospitality and his refusal to receive anything in return. He invited me to come back and visit. I already have a day trip planned again to deliver these two photos below. As he doesn't have an email address, and my best friend has an excellent photo printer, the least I can do is bring back a memory that meant so much to me.

With a full belly and a happy heart, I trailed to the border of the Muslim and Christian Quarters.

While photographing Via Dolorosa, a stranger approached me and told me a little history of the street. It turns out that Nile (pronounced "Neil") was a tour guide off-duty, and suddenly, I found myself swept up in a private tour of the Christian Quarter, including the Chruch of the Holy Sepulchre, the Jewish Quarter, and the rooftops hidden above us.

An Armenian man, likely Christian, who owns a Judaica store in the Jewish Quarter, Nile was a passionate tour guide and a great salesman. He swept me through the streets for over an hour, stopping us at a couple cafes where he insisted on treating me to pomegranate juice and mint tea, and picking me jasmine leaves and pomengrates from the trees.

We rested our feet in his shop. He played a mono-stringed instrument. ("It has the sound of the desert.") I paid him for the impromptu tour. He didn't refuse. He then showed me several items from his shop as I inquired about the business. It dawned on me that he was trying to sell me something. I was able to resist until he realized the one thing I was actually interested in was a coffee table picture book of the history of Jerusalem. The price was exorbitant, and I was about to walk away. I learned a valuable lesson, and a costly one, as he placed the book in a bag, placed it at my feet, and told me to just pay him whatever amount I wanted. I paid half the amount he requested and later felt buyer's remorse. He knew what he was doing. And I would prefer to not know the actual cost of that book. 😅

After dodging a few more friendly salesman on the street inviting me to look around their shops, I made it to Jaffa Gate. It was time to leave Jerusalem.

It was an interesting time to be in Jerusalem. The Sukkot crowds were pouring in as the hour for prayers approached. Long lines of people, on foot and in traffic, flowed.

Another reason why this was an interesting time to be in Jerusalem was because this was the day before the hostages came home. President Trump was due to visit Jerusalem soon. Besides the usual sights of signage for the hostages taken and those killed on October 7th, there were also American flags streaming around the city.

A morbidly hopeful thought entered my mind. I saw these line of Jews and felt a tear in my eye. In my grandparents' generation, there were those who wanted to kill us, and others who allowed it to happen. Today, there are still those who want to kill us. But today, we are alive. We are home.

Life is complicated but beautiful. In many ways, Jerusalem mirrors and reflects all the complexities and simplicities of life. I came expecting a curious, quiet walk around the Old City and left with profoundly meaningful memories and echoes of conversations ringing in my mind. I learned valuable lessons about people, connections, and personal lessons. I was challenged personally, emotionally, and mentally in such a short time. At the end of the day, all I could think is that I can't wait for my next visit to this wonderful city.