Loving Jerusalem – loving all her planets

Jerusalem is the love of my life.

I know her well — for a while now — and we’ve reached a routine and rhythm that works for us — after all, this is a long term relationship.

We have our favorite places together — the cafe near my office, Mojos on Shlomzion, Tacos Luis obv, the shuk, the Old City… and 5 minutes from my favorite pub, where I sit with my collarbone and tattoos showing in all their glory, is the Haredi neighborhood of Mea Shearim — a place I’ve never visited in all my years living and loving here.

Mea Shearim is a tightly-knit, neighborhood in Jerusalem, where many families speak Yiddish, and life revolves around religious Jewish customs and traditions. The busy streets are filled with children playing, women dressed modestly in long skirts and head coverings, and men wearing black coats and wide-brimmed hats. The walls are plastered with signs in Yiddish and Hebrew, many of which ask visitors—specifically women—to dress modestly.

The neighborhood remains largely closed off from the influences of secular, modern life, with boys attending yeshivas to study Torah and Talmud rather than pursuing a mainstream education. There’s a strong sense of preservation here, where the outside world is kept at bay to maintain the community’s traditions and religious devotion. And these days especially, tensions roil with the Haredi draft law.

This insularity is a defining feature of Mea Shearim. It’s one reason I’ve never been – not out of fear, but because I didn’t want to feel unwelcome or offend anyone.

Another five minutes in the other direction, and I’m in Est Jerusalem where the signs are in Arabic and women in hijab pass by, just as covered as the Haredi women a few hundred meters away.

A twist of the kaleidoscope, same same different.

In Jerusalem, it’s like walking between planets, each with its own gravity and pull.

Anyway, sometimes in long term
Relationships, we have to take new risks together, and This year, I made it my goal to feel more comfortable in different parts of our city—to break down my own stereotypes and anxieties that kept me from truly knowing my beloved Jerusalem as a whole.

Part of that process meant going to Mea Shearim.

I’ve learned over time to push through those fears in general. I used to feel the same way about visiting the Muslim Quarter or neighborhoods in East Jerusalem, but once I started meeting people, that anxiety  began to melt away, because I believe that when you look someone in the eye and tell the truth about who you are, they’re more likely to do the same.

It doesn’t create grand revelations or anything, but it can be the beginning of a bridge, a small spark of connection.

I dressed as modestly as I could — very demure, very mindful — with the help of two religious women in a clothing store who kindly outfitted me “this must be what it’s like playing Barbie, right?” one said, and I walked into a neighborhood I had never set foot in before.

While I didn’t have a life-changing epiphany in Mea Shearim, I did enjoy some amazing chulent and bought my kid yiddish speaking toys — and I met some landsman… men and women who look like we drew water from the same wells back in the day. Which we did, I’m sure.

I come from a family deeply rooted in Yiddishkeit, and walking those streets, I felt the closeness of my great-grandmother, and that was a gift. In some ways, I suppose I’m searching for her ghost in these places—finding pieces of my own history as I navigate different corners of this city.

And yet, after all of that, I simply turned a corner, walked a few hundred, and found myself back in my usual pocket of Jerusalem life. (And yes, I went to my pub and had a drink.)

The transition was so stark, but also so natural. Loving a city like Jerusalem means loving all of it, even the parts that challenge you.

I’m here for all of it — one step, one neighborhood, one shared moment at a time.