The Old City during Ramadan

In the midst of Ramadan, it’s a good time to wander through the Old City and try new routes.  We entered through Herod's Gate, which I probably last accessed more than 35 years ago. The city was fairly crowded today, with a higher than usual number of Muslim worshipers making their way along the narrow alleyways.

The arches of Herod's Gate

I wasn't so much interested in photographing people, but preferred discovering new architectural features that I've never seen before, or else try to re-photograph others, but under different lighting conditions.

The dentilled stonework of this arch in the Muslim Quarter (below) is reminiscent of the fine stonework of the much earlier Shaar Ha Rachamim (Gate of Mercy/Golden Gate), situated along the eastern axis of the Old City walls.

Near one of the main Muslim-only entrances to the Temple Mount, a man slowly makes his way up the stairs, on a warm fast day.

Near the same main Muslim-only entrance to the Temple Mount, a covered street with vaulted ceilings.

The way to Temple Mount…

A mosque with dedicatory plaque, engraved with exquisite Arabic calligraphy.

Another dedicatory inscription, Muslim Quarter.

Plaque detail.

Fragments of Memories of Israel Past (I)

In addition to contemporary photography, I will from time to time also post images of a younger nation of Israel, spanning the 1970s. My most profound impressions of this country were internalized during my initial nine month sojourn in 1971-72.

During that stay, I discovered my passion for Archaeology and worked on several significant archaeological projects. At the same time, I was also introduced to the daily security challenges faced by Israelis. The 1971-72 field season at the Byzantine Synagogue at Ein Gedi occurred less than a year following Black September, when thousands died in clashes between King Hussein's Jordanian forces and fighters of the PLO.

Winter 1971-72 Byzantine Synagogue Excavations at Ein Gedi

In order to discourage and/or intercept possible terrorist infiltrations from Jordan, a small army outpost operated above the Ein Gedi Field School. There, in a tiny shack, a solitary young soldier named Benny nightly operated a huge searchlight which panned back and forth across the dark void of the Dead Sea basin. During daylight hours, Israel Phantom jets trained in very low-altitude fly-overs above our synagogue excavations. The jets were so low that we could see the pilots and the sonic booms during training were deafening. I saw similar jets a year later (1973), when I returned for archaeological projects in Tiberias and Halutza. These standard military aviation exercises became a matter of life-and-death just one week after I returned to the US, with the outbreak of the Yom Kippur War.

During the mid-1970s, nocturnal terrorist incursions were common along Israel's northern border. On several occasions during the 1975 archaeological field season at Tel Dan, morning work was delayed until the army scrutinized the site for hidden terrorists or booby-traps and issued an all-clear. During that field season, there was at least one instance when we (the staff) were instructed by the army to restrict ourselves to the relatively sheltered grassy area between buildings at the Tel Hai youth hostel where we were quartered, while they engaged with several infiltrators. Following a brief period of machine gun fire, we were told it was safe to leave the compound.

During one of these attacks, near Metulla in 1975, the army sought to pinpoint terrorist infiltrators by releasing flares on parachutes which illuminated the countryside near the border with a harsh penetrating light. I captured the moment as a time-exposure showing the slow descent of the flares, taken amidst the sounds of sustained machine-gun fire.

View of attack, looking toward the Golan Heights

Israel maintained border security, in part, by a series of dirt track roads along the frontier which often paralleled existing paved roadways. The purpose of these secondary tracks was to spot the footprints of infiltrators from Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt. This was done by systematically scrapping the dirt roads one or more times daily, so that their freshly raked surface would show the footsteps in these no-man's land zones. These procedures were necessary in the days before high-tech security cameras. I still occasionally see the same dirt tracks and presume they continue as a security component in our defense.

Israel Tank Patrol, near Kuneitra, 1979.

Youthful Stupidity

Three foolish guys: Joe S., Joel S. Dzodin, and Mayer the Sabra

While excavating the Byzantine Synagogue at the Ein Gedi (1971-72), I became friends with a brash young Sabra soldier named Mayer. Although he spoke some English, his preferred phrase which he used liberally was "F**k you, Bugger!" Mayer conceived the notion that three of us would hike up the steep ascent ("Maale Essene") behind Ein Gedi and camp for a few days in the Judaean Desert. In those months following Black September, the Judaean Desert was a closed military zone. Mayer knew this and we asked him to secure the requisite army permission to camp in the desert.

Perhaps it was our language barrier, or perhaps its was his own arrogant chutzpa, but it seems that Mayer never bothered contacting the army. One day, in the late afternoon, three of us climbed the steep ascent to the desert floor and settled in a sheltered spot shortly before dark. As evening set in, several patrol vehicles appeared in the distance, flashing searchlights across the area. Whether they were there for training maneuvers or because they'd spotted our footprints, we had no idea. But we soon heard machine gunfire and discussed whether we should show ourselves or just hunker down. We chose the latter and were never found. We managed a few hours' sleep and sheepishly returned to camp the next morning. Afterwards, Mayer grudgingly admitted he had endangered our lives.

Mayer, on our ill-advised (unauthorized) overnight trip from Ein Gedi to the Judaean Desert.

The ruined Jerusalem Railway Station, a historic resource lost.

The derelict Jerusalem Railway Station (תחנת הרכבת ירושלים‎ - Tahanat HaRakevet) is situated between Derech Hevron and Derech Bethlehem, near the beginning of the German Colony of Jerusalem. Erected by the Ottoman Turks in 1892, it comprised a part of the Jaffa–Jerusalem railway and ceased operations in 1998. It has suffered from both general neglect and deliberate vandalism, as recently as 2010, when arsonists set fire to its interior. As a result, the Jerusalem municipality has sealed off access to the structure. These images were taken prior to the most recent arson.

As recorded by a historical marker, the station was targeted by the Irgun during the British Mandate period.

  

Around 2006, an artist installed a series of painted steel panels, in a noble attempt to restore some visual aesthetics to the ruin. While they survived unscathed for a time, eventually vandals defaced them with graffiti and slashed a gash in one of the panels.

Crazed paint on a wooden arch facing the railroad platform.








 

In the dark interior, an unexpected gem: a fresco of  Jerusalem's Old City walls, complete with the municipal "Coat-of Arms".

Fresco detail: the municipal "Coat-of Arms".