Energia Ha-Atikah

After two days in Emek, I finally left the PT office. Micah picked me up on the way to a film shoot, and then we went to the Old City where he had meetings. Without anything specific to do, I got myself intentionally lost and spent the better part of the late afternoon and early evening wandering. I heard visitors speak German, British, Russian, various east Asian languages I couldn’t pinpoint. I walked above and below on the multi-level pathways, houses stacked on offices stacked on yeshivot, passing the same features over and over and trying to remember how I got there. A Greek Orthodox priest in full regalia, carrying a Greek flag, danced to an Israeli clarinetist in the square. Slender women in well-tailored clothes and hijabs hurried by. An overweight Hasid mumbled to himself and walked in circles. At a great observation point overlooking the Kotel plaza, a couple asked me to take a photo of them in front of the Dome of the Rock. The muezzin called out the adhan from the minarets on the Temple Mount, alerting the faithful it was time for prayer. The booming song echoed through the city. I explained to two young boys with blond payot and huge multi-color kipot that this is how the Muslims know it is time to daven, and one promptly excitedly explained it to his mother. A young Arab explained to his white boyfriend the nature of the conflict. The stones changed color as afternoon faded to twilight faded to dusk. I found myself following a Russian tour group through the Arab quarter to another entrance to the plaza. The soldier at the security check got mad at me for taking his photo. I walked toward the wall, all around me tourists taking photos, soldiers in formation, a man sitting on the ground, reading aloud softly from a handwritten sheet of notebook paper. I joined a minyan led by man with a stutter, in front of one with Tourrette’s. Along the wall, soldiers in uniform prayed next to men in black hats and coats and tourists in the white paper kipot those without a head-covering are requested to wear. I made my way back to the square where I was to meet Micah. Little girls played jump rope and argued in Hebrew about whose fault it was. I overheard a guy in a large white kippah on a skateboard tell a girl that Obama is up by 11 points in the polls. I found internet and saw that CNN.com had both candidates at 0%, this being about 8am PST. A girl walked over and asked to see poll results. She saw the senate count—more Democrats than Republicans in seats not up for grabs—and said, “There’s still hope,” I think implying she doesn’t have the same leanings I do. American yeshiva students passed by talking loudly. The Old City lives. I set my laptop to hibernate and go back to Alon Shvut after a long weekend.

Palestine is for lovers.

If you lived here you'd be home now.

Surely the man on the left is talking to God.