The view of Jerusalem is the history of the world; it is more; it is the history of heaven and earth”

Benjamin Disraeli, Tancred

Quick, spur of the moment weekends away were an easy, peasy plan from Budapest. The airlines offered affordable flights so grabbing a small backpack with color coordinated clothing, slipping on my best fashionable walking shoes, a ready-to-go toiletry bag with the minimal products under 100ml made the transit rides to and from airports and accommodation stress free. Jerusalem was one of those places we always intended on popping over to so one chilly January morning when we looked at flights, everything looked good, price was right, we could find a bed, so off we went.

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This trip was about Jerusalem, there wasn’t time to explore much else, and really our only plan was to feel the city. The Holy City has an energy and vibe that is unparalleled. There are definitely cities that hum with historical energy but the layers (literally) of Jerusalem coupled with the tension due to the significance of this place to various faiths and creates a constant tingling of energy. We wanted to see so many places; Mount of Olives, Garden of Gethsemane, City of David, Mount Zion, the Western Wall, the East Gate, the Garden Tomb, The Dome of the Rock and much more, but in many ways it was de ja vu because all of the names and sights are imprinted upon my mind from 54 years of reading and hearing about and watching this city in church, books, television and news teases you into thinking you have been there before. Even the food. I remember the first time I tasted falafel and hummus 34 years ago. I was hooked. But nothing could have prepared me for the sensory experience of walking into the city from the bus station, passing through neighbourhoods, listening to chatter all along the sidewalks as friends sat and philophized over an afternoon coffee. Eating on and in the land where the produce is grown and the spices are mixed, where the recipes are passed down not written out is a spiritual experience. There is a connection that is not felt in a bistro in another land, although I most certainly had a friendly rapport with the lady that handed me my falafel twice a week for many years. The buzz increased in volume as we approached a market, the scent of zatar was mixed with all the fruits and vegetables and fresh Jerusalem bagels only added to my excitement and all of a sudden it was time. Time to sit and indulge in a lunch of falafel and hummus. My palate was zinging with the flavours and I could not believe that I was here. In Jerusalem, a city of cultures, religions, foods, arts, languages and peoples from all around the globe. A city that so many claim as their own and yet it can not be defined by any one. Even the humble chickpea and sesame seed can become political.

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We decided to spend the majority of our time in the old city, listening to the sounds, eating the food, enjoying the aromas of savoury and sweet and the unique combinations of these two that at times can confuse the palate. The iridescent orange knafe with sheep’s cheese, and a sweet syrup sprinkled with neon green pistachios is a popular favourite sold on street corners along with Jerusalem bagels, falafel, halva, and sacklav, pomegranate juice and mint tea.

If one pays attention to the news, conflict may be the first thing to come to mind when thinking about Israel, but in fact, there is so much happening in the food culture of this country that is bringing people together. There are so many restaurants where Jewish chefs and Palestinian chefs are working together to create a vibrant menu that celebrates both cultures and traditions. Machneyuda is definitely one of these spaces. Yossi Elad and his co-owners have embarked upon an exciting challenge of building something new – a new culture, a new Israeli cuisine as part of the project of national identity, “that’s the way to make peace”, Yossi posits. Michal, a Jewish chef, and Yakub, an Arab, are a couple that have taken this concept a little further. Living in the Arab village of Ein Rafa where Yakub grew up, they have opened a restaurant combining both Arab and Jewish cuisines. It is a stunning venue with vast views in a cozy setting.

peace is made at the table is my mantra and it seems that many chefs agree

It pays to read and research. In this case my husband Dave, an avid reader with a memory that goes on and on was a spectacular travelling companion. Our first evening, after dropping off our backpacks in our hostel in the Muslim Quarter we went wandering and he mentioned to me that he wanted to head down to the King David Hotel and sit in the lounge so that we could soak in the history. Years ago Dave had read O Jerusalem by Collins and LaPierre and recently he snatched a book I had bought right from under my nose as soon as I got it home, Montefiore’s Jerusalem. He relayed to me the history and stories he had read and made that historical building vibrate and hum as if the stones and cellars themselves were telling their secrets. It was a memorable evening as we sipped the King David’s Hotel own wine label, a big, bold red, snacking on olives and absorbing the energy that emanated from the surroundings. Another evening we wandered up towards the American Colony. This place was founded by Horatio Stafford, the man that penned the hymn “It is well with my soul” along with his wife Anna. Their’s was a life of tragedy with the loss of five of their children but it was also a life of strange and bizarre (as in dooms-day cult) religious thought and practice. The American Colony was involved in humanitarian work during the wars, and is famous for being the place where the Turks surrendered with a white bedsheet from one of the beds. Today it has a neutral status because of its ownership and management, therefore creating space for a meeting place for both Israelis and Palestinians. The bookstore in the hotel complex was hosted by a fascinating gentleman who had us raptured in conversation for over an hour. Every conversation is centred around history and conflict, but this one was interesting because we were completely unaware of the bookstore owner’s ethnicity, biases or opinions. It was an utterly engaging hour and we spent the rest of our evening in the wine cellar of the American Colony Hotel mulling over our earlier conversation and Dave telling me everything he had learned about the place from his readings as a teenager. The biggest advantage I have as a traveller is having the most interesting and well-read companion.

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We joined walking tours which made the buildings and streets come alive, we sat and absorbed the atmosphere as the church bells rang and the calls to prayer echoed out and enveloped the city. We pondered the quiet and empty streets on Friday evening as much as we smiled at the lively, awakened city on Saturday night. In order to indulge in the whole spectrum of the city, and the fact that there is limited restaurants open in the Old City, we decided to pop into the Armenian Tavern on Friday night as the Armenians are the least ruffled about religious protocols and found ourselves having quiet dinner in an ornately decorated, chandelier filled cavern where I read these words “from the unkind cup of history, they have drunk wisdom, not bitterness”. Happening upon a group of students who wandering around on the plaza who took the opportunity to burst into an impromptu performance! Joining groups of people indulging in late night shakshuka. Participating in the bursting, joyous, vibrant street-scapes at sundown. But for me Jerusalem is a memory of smells and tastes. I walked around with my eyes almost bulging at the sights but it was the piles of spices, the varieties of olives, the exquisite flavours that captured my heart. Most of what I indulged in I had experienced before, but partaking of it upon the land on which it’s grown and harvested was something unexpected. When food tells a story it becomes an indelible memory. It was as if my taste buds were hyped up and everything was amped up – I was taken a little unawares.

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To regale the encounters that were packed into three days is impossible. The sudden realisation that we were witnessing a youtube sermon being preached by a very zealous young Jewish man standing high on a wall while his wife recorded from down below. Drinking morning coffee and smiling at three muslim women having a wonderful morning together at the next table only to be proselytised in the end. Sitting on a stopped train only to be told that there was a tragedy takes ones breath away. Watching two crazy people having fun on a scooter only to realise it was a ruse for thievery. Meeting a precious young boy while walking along the East Gate. Knowing that what we thought we saw was actually metres below the surface and what we were seeing was the top layer of many. These were not the streets that Jesus walked, these may not be the exact spots that miracles happened – those places are long buried, but that does intimate that the myths of faith traditions are fictional. It is a city of vivid stories and sordid histories, and the stones hold the truth. That is why I felt the need to walk the streets and touch the walls, it is a tactile city.

Funny enough, on our way to the airport, which is between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, we whizzed passed the airport on the fast train and headed straight to the ocean in Tel Aviv for a couple of hours. Dave knows I’m an ocean gal and we had a lovely afternoon wandering the ocean front and exploring a couple of neighbourhoods before grabbing a quick train back to the Ben Gurion Airport heading home for work the next day!