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Life in a city of three faiths
Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/1/hi/progra mmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8369687.stm
Publi shed: 2009/11/21 11:46:44 GMT
Jerusalem's Old City is a district containing a number of holy sites
venerated by Muslims, Christians and Jews. The BBC's Heather Sharp,
who moved into a home within its walls last year, reports on daily
life in a dense tangle of narrow, winding alleyways.
Our first night was a disaster.
We had finally got the keys to our new home. A wiry teenager had
wheeled our bed on a handcart through the narrow, carless streets.
But as we turned out the light, Arabic pop music, cheers and whistles
blasted in through the window of our new flat as neighbours celebrated
a wedding.
And after just a few hours sleep we were jolted awake by the sound of
a massive, room-shaking bang.
We eventually worked out that it was not the start of the third
intifada, or Palestinian uprising. It was just a cannon fired to
signal the start of the day's fast during the Muslim month of Ramadan.
Uneasy truce
Jerusalem is a divided city in a divided land. And at its heart, is
the Old City, itself divided into Muslim, Christian, Jewish and
Armenian quarters.
It is home to Judaism's holiest site, Islam's third holiest and the
spot where many Christians believe Jesus was crucified.
Control of the area is one of the toughest issues facing anyone trying
to make peace between Israel and the Palestinians.
But even so, an uneasy coexistence is lived out day-to-day, all be it
under the watchful eyes of clusters of armed Israeli police.
Orthodox Jews in black coats and fox fur hats pick their way through
shouting Palestinian street hawkers, as they go to pray at the Western
Wall.
There are single shops where tourists can pick up a Jewish menorah, an
olive wood crucifix, or a plate depicting al-Aqsa mosque.
And I have watched two young men who run neighbouring coffee shops,
one Muslim, one Jewish, tease and hug each other in an open display of
friendship.
But relations are not often so cordial.
At politically volatile times, like Muslim Friday prayers during the
Israeli operation in Gaza, the police presence multiplies
dramatically, and tensions with it.
Pungent aromas
I once showed two Israeli guests the route to see my favourite rooftop
view. "When do we get kidnapped?" they half-joked anxiously, as we
walked through the Muslim quarter.
We live in the Christian quarter, home to Palestinian and Israeli-Arab
Christians.
Nearby is one solitary house displaying an Israeli flag. Skull-capped
children play behind high fences, watched by security guards. It is
part of the political struggle, house by house, for control of the old
city.
And when the Jewish residents and the Palestinians who live next to
them meet on the streets they pass in stony silence.
But while controversy is never far away, the sights and sounds of the
Old City are often far more mundane.
There are cats everywhere. From mangy, yowling toms to adorable,
defenceless kittens, they especially like to roam the meat market,
with its bewildering array of animal innards.
And there are the smells, incense wafts from churches mixing with the
aroma of roasting Arabic coffee, and the pungent reek of rotting
vegetables.
Car-free streets
The only vehicles that can navigate the narrow streets are hand carts
and small tractors, which groan their way up special concrete ramps on
the stone steps.
` We hear the bells from the Holy Sepulchre church, the horn
announcing the start of the Jewish Sabbath, and at dusk every night
the Muslim call to prayer echoes over the forest of rooftop satellite
dishes '
When we recently moved to a larger flat, we hired one of these
tractors, piled our possessions into its trailer and watched them
lurch their way to our new home.
Without car access there is a lot of carrying to do. We decided to
start a roof garden. The locals looked on in bemusement as we slogged
past carrying armfuls of foliage and backpacks filled with sacks of
compost.
And there was the time I found myself trying to lug an electric
radiator through crowds of South Korean Christian pilgrims, as they
were reflectively walking the route Jesus is said to have taken to his
crucifixion.
An acquaintance recently rang up and heard clanging monastery bells in
the background. "You live in the Old City? How do you stand all that
religious noise?" he asked.
We hear the bells from the Holy Sepulchre church, the horn announcing
the start of the Jewish Sabbath, and at dusk every night the Muslim
call to prayer echoes over the forest of rooftop satellite dishes.
Most of the time it is part of the furniture in this unique place
where the world's three major monotheisms meet.
But I have to admit, when Ramadan came round again, and the massive,
unexpected boom of the cannon erupted, a few very unholy words passed
my lips.
How to listen to: From Our Own Correspondent
Radio 4: Saturdays, 1130. Second weekly edition on Thursdays, 1100
(some weeks only)
World Service: See programme schedules
Download the
Listen on
Story by story at the
Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/1/hi/progra mmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8369687.stm
Publi shed: 2009/11/21 11:46:44 GMT
Jerusalem's Old City is a district containing a number of holy sites
venerated by Muslims, Christians and Jews. The BBC's Heather Sharp,
who moved into a home within its walls last year, reports on daily
life in a dense tangle of narrow, winding alleyways.
Our first night was a disaster.
We had finally got the keys to our new home. A wiry teenager had
wheeled our bed on a handcart through the narrow, carless streets.
But as we turned out the light, Arabic pop music, cheers and whistles
blasted in through the window of our new flat as neighbours celebrated
a wedding.
And after just a few hours sleep we were jolted awake by the sound of
a massive, room-shaking bang.
We eventually worked out that it was not the start of the third
intifada, or Palestinian uprising. It was just a cannon fired to
signal the start of the day's fast during the Muslim month of Ramadan.
Uneasy truce
Jerusalem is a divided city in a divided land. And at its heart, is
the Old City, itself divided into Muslim, Christian, Jewish and
Armenian quarters.
It is home to Judaism's holiest site, Islam's third holiest and the
spot where many Christians believe Jesus was crucified.
Control of the area is one of the toughest issues facing anyone trying
to make peace between Israel and the Palestinians.
But even so, an uneasy coexistence is lived out day-to-day, all be it
under the watchful eyes of clusters of armed Israeli police.
Orthodox Jews in black coats and fox fur hats pick their way through
shouting Palestinian street hawkers, as they go to pray at the Western
Wall.
There are single shops where tourists can pick up a Jewish menorah, an
olive wood crucifix, or a plate depicting al-Aqsa mosque.
And I have watched two young men who run neighbouring coffee shops,
one Muslim, one Jewish, tease and hug each other in an open display of
friendship.
But relations are not often so cordial.
At politically volatile times, like Muslim Friday prayers during the
Israeli operation in Gaza, the police presence multiplies
dramatically, and tensions with it.
Pungent aromas
I once showed two Israeli guests the route to see my favourite rooftop
view. "When do we get kidnapped?" they half-joked anxiously, as we
walked through the Muslim quarter.
We live in the Christian quarter, home to Palestinian and Israeli-Arab
Christians.
Nearby is one solitary house displaying an Israeli flag. Skull-capped
children play behind high fences, watched by security guards. It is
part of the political struggle, house by house, for control of the old
city.
And when the Jewish residents and the Palestinians who live next to
them meet on the streets they pass in stony silence.
But while controversy is never far away, the sights and sounds of the
Old City are often far more mundane.
There are cats everywhere. From mangy, yowling toms to adorable,
defenceless kittens, they especially like to roam the meat market,
with its bewildering array of animal innards.
And there are the smells, incense wafts from churches mixing with the
aroma of roasting Arabic coffee, and the pungent reek of rotting
vegetables.
Car-free streets
The only vehicles that can navigate the narrow streets are hand carts
and small tractors, which groan their way up special concrete ramps on
the stone steps.
` We hear the bells from the Holy Sepulchre church, the horn
announcing the start of the Jewish Sabbath, and at dusk every night
the Muslim call to prayer echoes over the forest of rooftop satellite
dishes '
When we recently moved to a larger flat, we hired one of these
tractors, piled our possessions into its trailer and watched them
lurch their way to our new home.
Without car access there is a lot of carrying to do. We decided to
start a roof garden. The locals looked on in bemusement as we slogged
past carrying armfuls of foliage and backpacks filled with sacks of
compost.
And there was the time I found myself trying to lug an electric
radiator through crowds of South Korean Christian pilgrims, as they
were reflectively walking the route Jesus is said to have taken to his
crucifixion.
An acquaintance recently rang up and heard clanging monastery bells in
the background. "You live in the Old City? How do you stand all that
religious noise?" he asked.
We hear the bells from the Holy Sepulchre church, the horn announcing
the start of the Jewish Sabbath, and at dusk every night the Muslim
call to prayer echoes over the forest of rooftop satellite dishes.
Most of the time it is part of the furniture in this unique place
where the world's three major monotheisms meet.
But I have to admit, when Ramadan came round again, and the massive,
unexpected boom of the cannon erupted, a few very unholy words passed
my lips.
How to listen to: From Our Own Correspondent
Radio 4: Saturdays, 1130. Second weekly edition on Thursdays, 1100
(some weeks only)
World Service: See programme schedules
Download the
Listen on
Story by story at the