I wanted to get down into the Kidron valley which runs towards Arab East Jerusalem, immediately below the old city. I left from what I now know was an ultra orthodox Jewish area. I cross a road and see a path descending the steep hillside. After about 50 metres I'm in an Arab area, I can't believe it's so close. I know it's Arab because of the flags flying and the livestock inside the garden walls. The houses cling to the hillside untidily, rubbish is everywhere, barking dogs, sheep, chickens and children. I make my way around an old fridge and some bags of rubbish on the path. There is poverty here. My senses are trying to get used to things changing so quickly. Within the space of 4 or 5 minutes I've gone from sitting on a neat stone seat outside a Jewish learning centre with smartly if not weirdly dressed religious young people laughing and joking to this, grubby children living in poverty. I come out onto a flat area where there are old cars and a young boy, he watches me pass. Where you go? he asks quietly. I say that I just want to get down into the valley and he points towards the way, expressionless, maybe wondering what I'm doing here. I thank him and carry on down a track. I reach the bottom of the valley and the landscape looks as though it's remained unchanged for hundreds if not thousands of years. But I remember reading about how bitterly this area was fought over in the 1967 war, I imagine shells and gunfire flying across this valley. The cliff sides are pitted with what look like ancient caves and I wonder who has lived or hidden in them. It is quiet, peaceful, olive trees, someone has ploughed in between them. I look up and see only a few hundred metres away, buildings on a road which I know is lined with luxury shops and restaurants. The extreme contrasts in Jerusalem numb me. I'm glad I've come down here and I walk in the quiet towards a jumble of Arab houses I can see not far away. As I come onto the road I see that it's like the roads I experienced in Palestinian Nazareth. Broken, dusty, litter strewn and you realise that you can't protect yourself walking down here. This is different to the Jewish-Israeli orderliness, wealthiness and tidiness I've got used to in the last few days. Male adults look me in the face, look through me. I take care not to alter my expression. I walk round cars on the pavements and keep a pace. There is a steady stream of males coming down the road, I realise Friday prayers are over. I pass an untidy looking Mosque, no golden dome only steel sheeting for a roof. I'm heading for a Church I know is down here somewhere but right now I'd be happy for anything with as Israeli flag. I'm ashamed that I don't feel quite safe with these Palestinians around me. A few days ago I lived with them. I see a path between some houses, going upwards and I wonder if this will take me where I want to go. There is a man stood motionless at the entrance to the path and he's looking at me wondering what a European idiot is doing down here. I decide to go for his good side and cross the road to ask him for help. Do you speak English? A little he says. He doesn't change expression but I think I'm on a winner. I say I'm a Christian (rather cowardly to impress upon him that I'm not Jewish and therefore I'm not after taking his land) no change of expression. I say that I'm looking for the Church of All Nations (which I'm sure will feel like a safe home when I find it). He looks at me as though I'm stupid, which I probably am, and then points up the road. I ask if I can go up his path and he says no, not here, up here and he points again. I've pleased I've had a conversation with him and I thank him, half smiling. I carry on up the road past jumbled Arab houses, crappy cars and two horses tethered to a tin canopy. Past sheep and goats and chickens and shops. The road is climbing now, I'm still probably only quarter of a mile from the old city walls, inside which is a very different world. I see an Israeli flag flying from a house. As I get closer I see high steel fences and barbed wire around the house and an armed security guard with dark glasses sat on a patio chair on the roof. They clearly take their personal safety seriously here. I carry on up the road past more people, small rough looking shops and rubbish. After a short while I see a Jewish guy in the street with a broom, he's outside what I assume is his compound and house, because it has an Israeli flag flying - for some reason. He's having a discussion with two young men who don't look like his close friends. The discussion seems to be about parking and he's pointing to a car parked awkwardly across what maybe his gate. Voices are not raised, just emphasised and I wonder what is really going on, I suspect far more than I can see. It occurs to me that he's brave, or obstinate, taking on two Arab guys in what is a tense neighbourhood. Then I notice a man with a holstered gun leaning casually on a railing about ten feet from him. I decide that he must be one of the Israeli paid-for security guards I've heard of and I see where the Jewish guy's confidence comes from. The intensity of Jerusalem; it's history, religions, wealth, poverty, conflict, tension, emotion, happiness and sadness could bring you to tears.
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AuthorCommunity Priest at St Barnabas Church on the Moss Rose Estate, in Macclesfield Archives
September 2015
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