Life and Death

Jewish Quarter, Jerusalem, Israel

This bookstore was actually open. It was the first open shop we’d come across since we heard the gunshots.

Only forty-five minutes before, my four friends and I heard gunshots ring out over the Old City from where we stood on the Mount of Olives. We returned to the city to find police and IDF troops everywhere and all of the main shops closed. Many shopkeepers abstained from selling their wares that day because the police had killed a Palestinian man. This man had tried to assassinate a well-known rabbi on the temple mount the day before. The religious and political tension of this event had come to a head when the police tracked the man to his home and gunned him down.

As we emerged from the bookstore, we heard music and cheering, and saw a large crowd of people making their way through the large courtyard adjacent to the big white synagogue. Leading this procession was a boy dressed in white who held the attention and the respect of his peers who excitedly clamored around him. Others carried balloons and clapped to the jubilant song of a flute and drums. The procession made its way around the square several times before coming to a stop under the cover of some umbrellas; the boy was beaming the entire way.

The joy and happiness that this crowd of bar mitzvah participants exuded was inviting and welcoming; I was almost tempted to join their song and participate in their celebration. It was a breath of fresh air after dodging police and walking past empty shops and angry Palestinians. Amidst the violence of the morning, the gunfire and the soldiers, the death and the political uproar, these people were celebrating this young boy’s ascension to religious adulthood. For them, this was a very joyous and monumental occasion in this boy’s life. But it is a bittersweet one as it marks his entrance into the swirling world of religion; religion is life in this country, but in this country it can very quickly lead to death, as we overheard that morning.

It felt like two different worlds but it all dwells in the same city, within the same walls—the joy of life and the tragedy of death. They live side by side, hand in hand. The people here have seen this all their lives and it’s nothing new to them. We saw the story of the shooting on the news later that day and we couldn’t believe how mellow the city had been compared to footage that the news aired.

That day of the gunshots and the bar mitzvah, the day of a death and a new birth, I witnessed two sides of the religious phenomenon that makes Jerusalem what it is. There’s a side of the news story that the camera doesn’t see; a part of the population that isn’t represented by the screaming extremists on the screen. During the Gaza disputes of the summer, I was told that 95% of the country is going about their business as usual. When I landed in Israel, I quickly learned that it was true.

The safety of our semester during the unrest in Jerusalem was always a concern to those who weren’t there, and understandably so. During my time in Jerusalem and in Israel, I never felt that my life was in danger—not necessarily because there wasn’t danger or unrest around me, but because the people are so accustomed to it that it was never really a big deal to them. Thus, it wasn’t a huge deal to us. Yes, they want the fighting to end; yes, they want the disputes to end, but this is the way it is.

For a country almost always threatened by war, prayer for the peace of Jerusalem is not taken lightly and it has been a biblical command for centuries. After standing within the walls and hearing the gunshots and seeing the violence and unrest almost firsthand, we should all be praying for Jerusalem. In Jerusalem, it is real.