Sirens
There are many things that make Jerusalem an interesting and unique place to live. The incredible diversity of people and cultures and ethnicities – Arab, Israeli, the community of olim (Jews who have made aliyah) who come from all over the world, the many foreigners living and working and visiting here. The three great monotheistic religions, all of which have their own subdivisions – Christian (Greek Orthodox, Catholic, Lutheran, Russian Orthodox, Coptic, Armenian…), Jewish (Ashkenazi, Sephardi, Mizrahi), Muslim (Sunni, Shi’a, though that split is less obvious here). The beauty of the city’s pale golden limestone buildings, getting more beautiful now that winter is nearly over, spring is springing and the sun has finally returned. The diversity of ideologies and theories on all manner of subjects, from politics and Zionism to obscure ancient theology to the conflict between secular and religious in modern Jewish life. The food – oh, where do I start? Hummus (best from Lina’s in the Old City), falafel (also best from the Old City), challah bread baked for Shabbat, olives, fresh fruit and vegetables piled high in the shuk, pomegranate juice, mujaddura (the best lentil dish ever made), kubbeh, shawarma, Iraqi-Jewish chicken stew, stuffed cabbage leaves… I could go on and on. The smells – dust, dirt, petrol fumes on Agrippas, incense in the Old City and the scent of attar of roses, coffee, the fish stalls in the shuk and the smell of freshly-baked challah wafting through the air on Friday mornings.
It’s only recently however that I have come to realise that one of the most wonderful, yet frustrating things about Jerusalem is the noise. Jerusalem is a noisy, noisy place. The shouting of stallholders in the shuk, advertising their wares loudly; the sound of the call to prayer in the Old City and East Jerusalem, along with the bells of the churches in the Christian Quarter; the buses and the light-rail announcing their presence loudly with their horns; the guys doing building work (always drilling too) regardless of the hour. When the sun is out I spend quite a lot of time sitting on my balcony looking west from Nachlaot, my neighbourhood, over towards the Knesset and no matter what time of day there is always a noise of some sort coming from somewhere. Some days are quieter than others, like Fridays once the Shabbat siren blasts and the noises die down completely, except from congregations in the synagogues. Most days are pretty noisy and some are exceptionally so.
Last week, for example, was Purim, the feast where Jews remember the story of Esther in the Torah, which is basically just an excuse for a big party – people get dressed up (hilarious seeing the stallholders in the shuk with their wife-beaters and beer bellies wearing pink wigs and little crowns), eat lots of food (of course) and drink a lot, because even if normally you are a dignified and sober person Purim is the one festival in which you are required to get hammered. Anyway, Friday afternoon found me sitting on my little balcony enjoying the sunshine, surrounded by an absolute cacophony: loud reggae music, which really can’t have been coming from the synagogue at the bottom of the street but sounded like it did; children running and shouting and chasing each other up and down the narrow alleyways; firecrackers being thrown; people taking dogs for walks and stopping for a chat on the corner; families enjoying the festival; the traffic from Agrippas, more backed-up than usual, with drivers honking their horns madly. And over and above it all, as always, the sound of sirens.
Jerusalem is a city full of sirens. I’m still not sure which ones are for the police, which ones are fire engines and which ones are ambulances. Either way, there always seems to be a siren going off somewhere. They've just started up now, as I type sitting on my bed at 6.08 p.m. on a Tuesday evening. Where are they going, these sirens? Who are they going to? Why are they going there anyway? It makes me wonder what on earth has been going on around the city for there to be so much need for the emergency services. Israel has one of the best emergency services in the world – two intifadas played a large part in this and necessity is, after all, the mother of invention. The biggest siren, one that reverberates across the whole city (and which, I hasten to point out, I’ve not heard yet), is the one that goes off whenever there is an air-raid or rocket attack. Jerusalem is generally and mercifully spared these but this is not the case elsewhere. Following the death last Friday of the militant leader of a terrorist group in Gaza in an IDF air-strike, the city of Ashdod further south has been under fairly continual rocket fire from the Gaza Strip and so the sirens there must have been going non-stop. I’m sure they’ve been going in Gaza too, where the Israeli military has responded to these strikes with more rocket attacks of its own.
Whilst I’m sure that the sirens going off in Jerusalem rarely have a cause as sinister as rocket fire, they nevertheless serve to remind me regularly of the conflict that continues to run in this little corner of the world. Sometimes it feels like I hear the sirens every day, whether consciously or not.
If only you could smell these pastries (from Marzipan, a bakery on Agrippas) - unbelievably good
It’s only recently however that I have come to realise that one of the most wonderful, yet frustrating things about Jerusalem is the noise. Jerusalem is a noisy, noisy place. The shouting of stallholders in the shuk, advertising their wares loudly; the sound of the call to prayer in the Old City and East Jerusalem, along with the bells of the churches in the Christian Quarter; the buses and the light-rail announcing their presence loudly with their horns; the guys doing building work (always drilling too) regardless of the hour. When the sun is out I spend quite a lot of time sitting on my balcony looking west from Nachlaot, my neighbourhood, over towards the Knesset and no matter what time of day there is always a noise of some sort coming from somewhere. Some days are quieter than others, like Fridays once the Shabbat siren blasts and the noises die down completely, except from congregations in the synagogues. Most days are pretty noisy and some are exceptionally so.
Last week, for example, was Purim, the feast where Jews remember the story of Esther in the Torah, which is basically just an excuse for a big party – people get dressed up (hilarious seeing the stallholders in the shuk with their wife-beaters and beer bellies wearing pink wigs and little crowns), eat lots of food (of course) and drink a lot, because even if normally you are a dignified and sober person Purim is the one festival in which you are required to get hammered. Anyway, Friday afternoon found me sitting on my little balcony enjoying the sunshine, surrounded by an absolute cacophony: loud reggae music, which really can’t have been coming from the synagogue at the bottom of the street but sounded like it did; children running and shouting and chasing each other up and down the narrow alleyways; firecrackers being thrown; people taking dogs for walks and stopping for a chat on the corner; families enjoying the festival; the traffic from Agrippas, more backed-up than usual, with drivers honking their horns madly. And over and above it all, as always, the sound of sirens.
Jerusalem is a city full of sirens. I’m still not sure which ones are for the police, which ones are fire engines and which ones are ambulances. Either way, there always seems to be a siren going off somewhere. They've just started up now, as I type sitting on my bed at 6.08 p.m. on a Tuesday evening. Where are they going, these sirens? Who are they going to? Why are they going there anyway? It makes me wonder what on earth has been going on around the city for there to be so much need for the emergency services. Israel has one of the best emergency services in the world – two intifadas played a large part in this and necessity is, after all, the mother of invention. The biggest siren, one that reverberates across the whole city (and which, I hasten to point out, I’ve not heard yet), is the one that goes off whenever there is an air-raid or rocket attack. Jerusalem is generally and mercifully spared these but this is not the case elsewhere. Following the death last Friday of the militant leader of a terrorist group in Gaza in an IDF air-strike, the city of Ashdod further south has been under fairly continual rocket fire from the Gaza Strip and so the sirens there must have been going non-stop. I’m sure they’ve been going in Gaza too, where the Israeli military has responded to these strikes with more rocket attacks of its own.
Whilst I’m sure that the sirens going off in Jerusalem rarely have a cause as sinister as rocket fire, they nevertheless serve to remind me regularly of the conflict that continues to run in this little corner of the world. Sometimes it feels like I hear the sirens every day, whether consciously or not.
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