Jazz Night

On our way to the Jazz performance I see a man lying on Ben Yehuda Street in a white hospital gown. His body is curled in a tight fetal position with his hand wrapped around a cup for coins. Oblivious, the world bustles by. A gaggle of girls dressed like Urban Outfitters models laugh, a bald man wearing a kippa and smoking a cigarette plays the Oud, and a crowd beats their drums to Capoeira street dancers. When we  arrive at the outdoor concert, I watch the underage musicians from afar. Within minutes, an old woman with a cobalt blue head covering comes up to me holding a cup. I look down and shake my head.

Earlier that day, we listened to a seminar on the history of Zionism. One girl asked, “How many Arabs lived in the region during the first wave of Jewish immigrants?”

“Not many,” the speaker said, “Not many at all, and they were mostly where they are now—in Gaza and the West Bank.”

 Later, we walked to the Old City and I could see smoke rising from behind the partition wall. I asked our Israeli Madricha,

 “Where do the Arab villages begin?”

            “I don’t know, I really don’t know,” she shook her head. “They’re on the other side, but maybe here too. I went to a conservative school, we didn’t focus on that part.”

With the UN vote, tensions are high and security alerts have been sent. We have been warned to avoid the Old City. But for now, we walk the narrow streets that are choked with paraphernalia of all three Abrahamic religions. Silver menorahs lean against wooden icons on richly embroidered prayer rugs. One girl asks, “Why do Christians use the rugs?”

           “They don’t,” I say, “they’re for Muslims.”

           “Imagine what this would have looked like two thousand years ago,” she says.

           “Similar, there were always merchants outside the Temple,” I say.

            Walking back from the Jazz concert, I talk with a girl from Australia. “The English stole our country,” she says, “I suppose that’s why we have to follow their rules. The true bred Australians—

            “The Aborigines?” I interrupt.

            “Well, uh, yea I guess. I didn’t mean them. The Aborigines are really nobodies. They’re really poor and live in remote areas.”

            “Oh,” I say, “I see.”