A Street Divided Read Online Free Page B
Author: Dion Nissenbaum
North-Going Zax dig in, so his South-Going adversary makes it clear that heâs not going to back down.
âIâll stand here, not budging!â the South-Going Zax warns, âI can and I will, if it makes you and me and the whole world stand still!â
The North-Going Zax and the South-Going Zax do stand still. For years and years and years and years and years. But the world doesnât. It moves on. People eventually build a freeway right over the un-budgeable Zaxes, still defiantly glaring at each other in the middle of the desert. 1
Jerusalem brings out the Zax in a lot of people. It came out in me one particular day as I was pulling out of a space in a narrow, gated downtown parking lot. As I was leaving, a guy who regularly used the spot drove up to the parking lot entrance while the metal gate rolled open. I couldnât get out of the cramped, triangular lot until he backed out of the entrance, but the driver signaled for me to pull deeper into the tiny lot so he could take the parking space before I drove away. I refused to budge. So did he. We wildly waved our hands at each other and shouted curses from afar. We sat there for minutes. Finally, I threw open my car door, marched over to his window and let all my pent up frustration blow.
âIf youâd just move your fucking car we could both be on our way!â I shouted at the man.
The driver looked at me, said something in Hebrew under his breath, turned off his engine, got out, and locked the car.
âYou donât know who youâre dealing with,â he said as he walked away, leaving his car blocking the entrance. No one could get in or out of the small parking lot. Not me. Not him. Not anyone. It didnât matter to him how many people would be inconvenienced by his actions. He made his point. He would not budge.
We were at a stalemate. Everyone else just had to figure out for themselves how to deal with our standoff. These kinds of fights happen over and over in Jerusalem. When people can, they move on. They wash their hands of the problems, or they find ways around them. But stalemate takes its own kind of toll. Stagnation leaves a mark. Over time, the small slights and daily frustrations build up like a pressure cooker until they explode, one way or another. You can feel it, every day, on Assael Street.
* * *
This story is built around the memories of the people who lived in this neighborhood, including my own. Some people were more willing to talk than others. Several residents asked that their real names not be used, so a few have been changed. Some of these stories are bolstered by UN documents, memoirs of key players, government records and newspaper reports from the time.
Iâm sure you could find another 300-yard street somewhere in the world that has as many stories as this one. But there is no doubt that Assael has a tale like no other.
* * *
There is a story they tell on Assael Street that goes something like this . . .
One
No Manâs Land
Many men dream of redrawing Middle East borders.
Eliyahu Goeli is one who actually has.
Singlehandedly, the young Iranian immigrant became one of the first people to stretch Israelâs borders and grab a little more land for his new country. And not just any land. Eliyahu claimed more ground for Israel in Jerusalem, the city where the Jewish high priests could speak directly to God. There could be nothing more rewarding.
Expanding Israelâs poorly defined boundary wasnât Eliyahuâs first priority when he arrived in Israel in 1950. The Jewish father of four was just looking for someplace to live. Heâd done well in Iran, where he made Arak, the regionâs popular licorice-flavored alcohol. With the growing surge of immigrants pouring into a new country struggling to find places for everyone, Eliyahu had to go to the edge of Israel to find a home.
There was a reason no one had taken over the concrete block house set above Israelâs new
âIâll stand here, not budging!â the South-Going Zax warns, âI can and I will, if it makes you and me and the whole world stand still!â
The North-Going Zax and the South-Going Zax do stand still. For years and years and years and years and years. But the world doesnât. It moves on. People eventually build a freeway right over the un-budgeable Zaxes, still defiantly glaring at each other in the middle of the desert. 1
Jerusalem brings out the Zax in a lot of people. It came out in me one particular day as I was pulling out of a space in a narrow, gated downtown parking lot. As I was leaving, a guy who regularly used the spot drove up to the parking lot entrance while the metal gate rolled open. I couldnât get out of the cramped, triangular lot until he backed out of the entrance, but the driver signaled for me to pull deeper into the tiny lot so he could take the parking space before I drove away. I refused to budge. So did he. We wildly waved our hands at each other and shouted curses from afar. We sat there for minutes. Finally, I threw open my car door, marched over to his window and let all my pent up frustration blow.
âIf youâd just move your fucking car we could both be on our way!â I shouted at the man.
The driver looked at me, said something in Hebrew under his breath, turned off his engine, got out, and locked the car.
âYou donât know who youâre dealing with,â he said as he walked away, leaving his car blocking the entrance. No one could get in or out of the small parking lot. Not me. Not him. Not anyone. It didnât matter to him how many people would be inconvenienced by his actions. He made his point. He would not budge.
We were at a stalemate. Everyone else just had to figure out for themselves how to deal with our standoff. These kinds of fights happen over and over in Jerusalem. When people can, they move on. They wash their hands of the problems, or they find ways around them. But stalemate takes its own kind of toll. Stagnation leaves a mark. Over time, the small slights and daily frustrations build up like a pressure cooker until they explode, one way or another. You can feel it, every day, on Assael Street.
* * *
This story is built around the memories of the people who lived in this neighborhood, including my own. Some people were more willing to talk than others. Several residents asked that their real names not be used, so a few have been changed. Some of these stories are bolstered by UN documents, memoirs of key players, government records and newspaper reports from the time.
Iâm sure you could find another 300-yard street somewhere in the world that has as many stories as this one. But there is no doubt that Assael has a tale like no other.
* * *
There is a story they tell on Assael Street that goes something like this . . .
One
No Manâs Land
Many men dream of redrawing Middle East borders.
Eliyahu Goeli is one who actually has.
Singlehandedly, the young Iranian immigrant became one of the first people to stretch Israelâs borders and grab a little more land for his new country. And not just any land. Eliyahu claimed more ground for Israel in Jerusalem, the city where the Jewish high priests could speak directly to God. There could be nothing more rewarding.
Expanding Israelâs poorly defined boundary wasnât Eliyahuâs first priority when he arrived in Israel in 1950. The Jewish father of four was just looking for someplace to live. Heâd done well in Iran, where he made Arak, the regionâs popular licorice-flavored alcohol. With the growing surge of immigrants pouring into a new country struggling to find places for everyone, Eliyahu had to go to the edge of Israel to find a home.
There was a reason no one had taken over the concrete block house set above Israelâs new
Readers choose
Stacey Espino
Bonnie Kaye
Michael Rosen
Sarah Paisley
Adam Lance Garcia
Ellen Fisher
Linda Fairstein
Anne Vinton
Christa Parrish