COPS, Jerusalem, Israel 07/09/06

I got in touch with the Valbuena family, who are a UN family living in Jerusalem. They are great friends of my family. We agreed to get together later on in the day for lunch. So meanwhile, I decided to go to the places where I used to live in Jerusalem as a kid.

It’s a beautiful ride from Har Adar to Jerusalem. I had to ride down the hill, passed Abu Gosh and go up Highway #2 to Jerusalem. That’s why the Bible always says, “Let’s go up to Zion”. Anyway, entering Jerusalem, the scenery is picturesque. On top of the hills lie tall buildings built with Jerusalem Stone. That’s what’s official for construction. My first stop was Ramat Eshkol, a neighborhood, where I lived in Jerusalem. I parked by the shopping center and walked towards a tall white building. Our apartment used to be on the 14th floor. As I set up to take some pics and video, I noticed that most of the people that were walking down from the building were religious. That was interesting, since that was not the case during my childhood years.

After taking a few pictures of the building and the “supersol” (the publix or farm fresh of Israel), I walked over to the shopping area. This is where I, as an 8 year-old boy, good-looking, big rosy cheeks, would run with one lira in my hand to the little store owned by an Argentinian old man, to buy a grape ice popsicle. Here, my mother would use the post office, do her banking, her laundry and some other things. It was very different. I set up my tripod so I would come out on video and pictures. Things got a little interesting.

As I was doing my thing, I noticed an old man looking at me with a lot of interest. He would stare and stare. Then I noticed that he went up to the other old man that was guarding the entrance to the bank. As they talked, I noticed them pointing towards my direction. One of them scratched their head and the other one grabbed his chin. They talked for a while, as if trying to solve a puzzle, showing no signs of a smile or a grin.

Finally, the shorter and skinnier old man, started walking up to me, as I posed for a picture with the shawarma and falafel place behind me. I thought, “Oh no, the guy’s suspicious!”
Sure enough, the guy asked me in Hebrew, “why are you taking pictures?”
“I used to live here when I was a little boy!” I answered back in Hebrew.
“So why are you taking pictures?” he asked again not giving any importance to my first answer.
“It’s been a while, since I’ve been here and now I want to take pictures for myself,” I proudly answered – proud that I could say this in Hebrew.
“I don’t believe you! Let me see your ID!” he demanded.
“Are you the police?” I asked immediately. When he said yes, I said, “Let me see your ID!”

He opened his wallet quickly and closed it just as quick. He insisted on seeing my ID, but I refused. He threatened to call the police, as he pulled out his cell phone and started dialing.

“Call the police! I’ll wait here!” I replied with confidence. I kept walking around to take more pictures and the old man just kept getting more nervous. I decided to walk to the other side of the road, which probably made his heart pound like crazy. I took some pictures of the surrounding area and the football field that was at the bottom of the hill. I looked back towards the old man and noticed him waving his arm calling me back. When I was done, I crossed the road back to where Mr. Grumpy was.

“Stay here! The police is coming!”
“Where are they? I have to go!”
“Wait! They’re coming!”

So I waited for a while, enjoying all the excitement I had caused. Then I saw this big vehicle with a long cage on the back pull up to the shopping area. I thought that this had become a bigger deal than I thought it would be. After old Grump made sure I noticed the vehicle, he ran over and talked to them for a while. I waited, but then I decided to approach the police myself to get this over with.

“Do you speak English?” I asked again with my Hebrew.
“Lo,” was their answer.
“How am I going to explain myself out of this one?” I thought. So calmly I proceeded to explain myself in Hebrew, just as I had done with old man. The old man was waiting to see what would happen to me and would not leave. One of the policemen told him to leave and ended up yelling at him. I felt bad. He finally walked away.

“Let me see your ID!” he said.
I showed the police on the passenger side of the vehicle my ID. He asked me where I
was from and why I was taking pictures and for whom they were. They were nice during the whole interrogation. When they were satisfied with my answers, they drove off. Ramat Eshkol is still a very nice neighborhood. Thousands of memories flashed back through my head as I walked the hood and took pictures.

After all this excitement, I headed to a place called French Hill, another neighborhood where I used to live. I did the same thing. As soon as I was finished, I got a call from the Valbuena family and drove off to meet them at Novotel Hotel, not far from where I was.