Chapter 9 - The Compound on Jaffa Street
January 20, 2009
There’s this rare gesture from the universe when a critical personal moment aligns with a grand global milestone. When it happens, the thing that feels too BIG to be contained inside you, yet too grave to be shared, is allowed to meld into a larger collective experience lending a universal significance to your own private moment.
I stepped onto the bus and found a seat. The driver had the radio on and the words cut through: "I Barack Hussein Obama". Despite a distinctive winter chill, the air felt thick with the gravity of the moment. It was hard to tell what people were thinking but everyone knew this inauguration would forever stand out in history.
I placed the blue canvas bag on my lap and felt my coat pocket for the scrap of paper on which I had written directions. Once I got into the city this would be all I had to direct me. I had no phone. While only a 45 minute bus ride away, Jerusalem was a city I'd only visited a handful of times and had no idea how to navigate it alone. Especially at nighttime.
I got off to wait for the Kav Pnimi - internal city bus. When it pulled up, I asked the driver "Is this to Rechov Yaffo? Do you stop at Migrash Harusim?", He nodded.
Numb as I was, I failed to notice the usual bumpy ride typical of these city buses. Instead, I stared in awe as the Bridge of Strings came into view. Still unfinished, it was already an imposing structure. You could stare at those strings representing King David's lyre for hours.
I would now need to rely on directions from strangers. And Israelis are notoriously awful at offering these. They will try to help you, no doubt! But the city is built on hills and no street or road even resembles a straight line. There are intersections and alleyways to navigate. As many a tourist has learned, sometimes you're better off not asking at all.
The street was bustling but not in a manner that would comfort a teen girl alone at night. I approached two women and asked them to point me in the direction of the Russian Compound. They did. And added that I really shouldn't be going there alone at night. I continued ahead on my mission and located the building soon after.
I spotted an inconspicuous bell beside the gate and pressed it. No answer. Again. A guard appeared. "I brought stuff for my father" I blurted. He informed me that this was after visiting hours and I cannot drop anything off. I nearly burst into tears "but my mom called!" I managed as the lump lodged in my throat. He appeared unmoved. PLEASE?
He informed me that he'll check and be back. I stood there in my wide pleated polyester skirt and light blue Argyle sweater. White socks, running shoes, a ski jacket. For 16 I was clueless. Dressed like a child from the 80s.
A group of soldiers was hanging out behind me. "Where are you from?" The guy asked. He must have been 18, surrounded by a group of females in uniform. "Modiin", I replied. It wasn't true. I was from Kiriat Sefer. But somehow, without knowing anything, I knew that being from a city where no one knows anything, was worse.
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