My visit to Jerusalem:
The Holy City
The cold nighttime air rushes
into the windows, and we drive out of the restaurant parking lot. Two teeth
are sitting in my pocket, and I feel warm, bloody sockets where my teeth
were. The city air is surprisingly clean, and the car slows down as we
approach the checkpoint. We can see about three fourths of a mile backed
up in front of us, and there seems to be an argument going on next to one
of the two security stations.
As we get closer, we see
the argument is taking place by the checkpoint, and it seems that only
one security point was open, slowing down the traffic in and out of the
capital drastically. There is what is supposed to be a roundabout next
to the checkpoint, but the roundabout has become a checkpoint that has
screwed up the traffic so badly that everyone is driving any direction
they want, barely missing other drivers. Once we finally get out, we go
much faster, enjoying the cold desert night air rushing through the windows. |
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As we drive into Jerusalem,
the traffic slows, and we observed the construction of a settler-only rail
system through the Palestinian half of Jerusalem, removing all street side
parking. We turn into my grand uncle's neighborhood and we see rubble on
the ground where a house used to stand.
The next day, we go to the
old city. While driving there, we need to pass yet another Israeli checkpoint.
When we drive in, we realize that the Israeli government provides free
parking at the end of the Jewish quarter. We have to park there and walk
about a half a mile to the Muslim/Christian quarter, which has a lot of
the historical things.
The Jewish quarter is basically
a shopping mall in the middle of an ancient city. When we finally get to
the Muslim quarter, we go to Zalatimo's. The bakery has been around for
over 140 years, and has been passed from father to son the whole time,
surviving the occupation of the Turks, the British, and the Israelis. It
currently operates only in Jerusalem and Amman, Jordan. This one we have
gone to was the first one Zalatimo opened and it still has the same brick
walls it did so many years ago.
As my parents sit at the
table and do some catching up with my great uncle and aunt, I watch the
chef cook our pastry, Mtaba ("folded"), as he takes each layer of the pastry
and lays it down carefully, puts sweeteners on it, and does the same with
another layer about 20 times. He then puts it into the oven and lets it
cook. I think it is amazing how his father, and grandfather, and even great
grandfather might have been doing the same thing for generations, the same
as he is doing in front of me now.
We then walk around, and
drive back home. We fly back a little bit later, but I have memories that
I will never forget and my two teeth, dry now, rest in my pocket.
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Author : David Paul
Noursi, 13 years old, is a rising 8th grader in Joyce Kilmer Middle School,
Vienna, VA |
