It was a beautiful autumn day, and autumn is a fleeting season in Israel. We have pine needles instead of maple or oak leaves, which don’t change color. But the weather was not too hot or too cold, only 77 degrees Fahrenheit. The sky was blue with a few puffs of clouds, and I woke up too late for my first shiur. We don’t have weekends in Israel as in America – Rabbi Sholom Schwadron, the famous “magid” from Shaarei Chesed called American Sundays “Shabbos sheini shel goliyus” – and I needed a break.
I put on my helmet, hopped on my bicycle, and sped southward. My first destination was the First Station, a recreational complex of restaurants, stores, and sports activities that surround the first train station in Yerushalayim, built by the Ottomans in the late nineteenth century. Alongside this area, the city paved a designated bike path that runs all the way down to the Biblical Zoo.
Biking in Yerushalayim is not the same as biking in Baltimore County, that’s for sure. Turning right on Rashba Street (where I live), in the Rechavia neighborhood, I passed #6 Rashba, where former Jerusalem mayor Teddy Kollek lived. He is a legend of socialist Zionism, and one of the most beloved mayors of Jerusalem – except that the chareidim hated him, and the feeling was mutual. But he kept the streets clean and developed the Old City after it was liberated during the Six Day War.
I swung left on Alfasi Street, passing Jason’s Tomb, a tomb from Hasmonean times (2nd century BCE) uncovered in 1956. Its Greek and Aramaic inscription includes an epitaph to the unknown Jason, apparently a very rich Jew. Had I traveled down the parallel Ben Maimon Street, I would have passed Beit Eshkol, the official residence Levi Eshkol, prime minister immediately before the Six Day War.
I turned right on Radak Street, crossed Aza Street, then rode up to Jabotinsky Street near Beit Hanassi, the president of Israel’s residence. I followed the road down, through the Talbieh neighborhood, passing the Inbal Hotel, and turned right onto King David Street. With the Gan Hapa’amon to my right, I rode one long block, crossing the road that leads to the Begin Heritage Center and arrived at the First Station (Hatachanah Harishona) and the official bike path.
The Jerusalem municipality restored the train tracks and built a wooden walkway over them and an asphalt bike path beside them. I crossed Bet Lechem Street and was now in the German Colony neighborhood, which was founded by the German Templars in the 19th century. The architecture of the first homes and their interiors matched the homes of Southern Germany, where these Christians came from. Their farming colonies near Haifa and elsewhere inspired Orthodox European Jews to start their own during the period known as the First Aliyah (1882-1904).
Parallel to the bike path is Emek Refaim Street. At 41 Emek Refaim, an unobtrusive iron gate gives no indication that it opens to a small Christian cemetery. A tombstone there is embellished with both the cross and the Magen David. The man buried there is John Stanley Grauel, a Protestant minister who loved the Jewish people and was a committed Zionist. He was the only non-Jew who was a member of the staff of the famous refugee ship “Exodus.” The ship was taken over by the British as it approached Eretz Yisrael. They beat the Jewish refugees from European DP camps trying to enter the country. It created an uproar around the world.
The members of the UNSCOP (United Nations Special Committee on Palestine) mission happened to be in Israel at the time, and Teddy Kollek whisked Grauel from Haifa to Jerusalem to be interviewed by them. (The British were trying to nab him as he was the last person they wanted the UNSCOP members to meet.) Since he was a non-Jew, the UNSCOP members believed him to be a more credible witness. It was he who convinced them to visit the DP camps in Europe. Grauel’s testimony played a major part in the committee’s deciding to recommend the partitioning of Palestine into two states – one Jewish and one Arab. How one man could make such a difference!
I crossed General Pierre Koenig Street and continued riding southwest on the bike path. There were huge signs everywhere of a stern looking man, candidate Moshe Leon (“the bulldozer”). The elections for Jerusalem’s mayoralty were only a week away. Who would I vote for? A week before the bike trip, I attended a “meet the candidates” forum at Machon Lev, a technical college in Jerusalem for the religious community.
The first to show up – he was the only one to come early and shmooze with the students – was the secular candidate Ofer Berkovitch. A young fellow, I think in his thirties, he is not politically affiliated. As the only secular candidate, he has the backing of the left-wing Meretz Party, who are advertising that people should vote for their candidates for City Council, who would not allow Ofer to make any concessions to the chareidim. Of course, Meretz has no problem making concessions to the Palestinians, no matter how much they terrorize us. In the warped minds of the Meretz people, it is the chareidim, who present a mortal danger to the State of Israel. Although Ofer himself is not anti-chareidi, since much of his base will be these secular fanatics, I would pause before voting for him. He also has the least experience of the candidates.
At the last minute, the other candidates arrived: Moshe Leon, the grim-faced accountant who is supported by the Sefardim and the Degel Hatorah (Litvak chareidi) party. Front runner Zeev Elkin (sporting a knitted kippa) is from the Likud and is supported by the traditional, religious, and some chareidim (like Gur). Finally, there was Yossi Deitsch, a Slonimer chasid who has the support of – guess who? – the Agudat Yisrael party. The three religious/traditional candidates all have extensive experience, each in his own way.
In any case, as soon as the questioning by the moderator began, so did the mudslinging and accusations. Deitsch didn’t seem to know what a two-minute time allotment meant, and when he finally finished singing his praises, he ripped into the next candidate’s two-minute monologue. No one seemed to have any derech eretz (respect) for the other. (Berkovitch was probably the least offensive.) It was like a gladiator fight. After 15 minutes of this, I walked out of the auditorium nauseous. All this, shortly after the High Holy Days, where we intone in our prayers, “Veya’asu kulum agudah achas – May they all unite into one group.”
“Who are you voting for?” I asked my friends. “I don’t know anything about the candidates” shrugs my neighbor, who comes from England. “I’ll vote for whomever my rabbis tell me,” says Chaim, a chareidi from the states now living in Neve Yaakov. “Probably Deitsch,” says Mendel, a Lubavitcher who lives in the German Colony. “If Deri (a Sefardi leader) supports Leon, he’s got my support,” says Binyamin from Kiryat Hayovel, whose family originated in Bukhara. My nightmare scenario is that the religious/traditional/nationalist community will be so split that Berkovitch will win, even though only a minority supports him.
I continued my bike ride. Along the path, the municipality had posted vintage photographs connected to the old railway system, like the train that transported Kaiser Wilhelm from Germany when he visited Jerusalem in 1898 and photos from the British Mandate era.
To my right was the Makor Chaim neighborhood, and to my left was the commercial district of Talpiot. Riding further, almost always downhill, I passed the Arab village of Beit Safafa with its minarets. Until the Six Day War in 1967, half of the village was under Israel and half under Jordan. Now it is totally swallowed up inside Jerusalem’s borders. A little beyond Beit Safafa, I passed some olive groves, then a flock of sheep, clustered together, and an Arab shepherd dutifully watching over them. I gave him a shalom aleichem and he dutifully reciprocated. I was now passing pastoral terraced hills on my left, huge bridges and Teddy Stadium and Malcha Mall on my right. Welcome to Israel, where the Bible meets the 21st century.
There was a channel running alongside the path, whose job it is to catch and direct rainwater from winter downpours. It’s been five years of drought in Israel. Even with its seven desalination plants, there isn’t enough water, and the Dead Sea is dying (no pun intended). Where is the Prophet Eliyahu? What sin is hanging over us?
Two minutes later I passed the Malcha Train Station, deserted except for a solitary Ethiopian security guard. It used to be the last stop of the train that ran from Tel Aviv, through Bet Shemesh, to Jerusalem. The new Yitzchak Navon Train Station, across from the Jerusalem Central Bus Station, seems to have replaced it. You can now take a fast train from there to Ben Gurion airport in 20 minutes. (But you must go down four long escalators just to get to the tracks.)
After a couple of sharp turns, I arrived at the lovely wooded Emek Refaim Valley Park. Another right turn and just up the road on my right was the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo. The bike path then forks. To the left there are playgrounds, and then it comes to a sudden end, with just a narrow dirt path surrounded by tall weeds. If I chose to ride to the zoo, the path would go by the new Jerusalem Aquarium, then continue to the natural springs of Ein Lavan and the beautiful hills surrounding it. This whole area, by the way, is very close to territory under the control of the Palestinian Authority! It’s still safe.
Now I had to go back – and it would be all uphill. All I can tell you is that I am no longer a spring chicken, and I was exhausted for the rest of the day and the day following. I could have cheated and rented an electric bike from a shop at the First Station and saved myself lot of exertion, but I’m glad I had the workout.
All in all, the bike path was a wonderful way to experience Jerusalem’s past and present, its flora, and its neighborhoods. Highly recommended.
