elinor        אלינור   
A Day in Jerusalem
I learned decades ago 
that decades before that, Jerusalemites who were arranging to meet downtown said 
We’ll meet at the traffic signal, for there was only one in the city. I have 
been absent from Jerusalem for yet a further decade, so when the opportunity to 
sign up for a Bus 99 two-hour tour of Jerusalem surfaced, I signed. Bus 99 is a 
hop-on/hop-off tourist attraction, although this one was privately 
hired.
The weather this week 
has been so different from the usual that I left home with opposing 
accouterments: sun hat, umbrella and sweater.  And the essential 
element, a book.  My bag was heavy, my spirits light. The bus will 
be a double-decker and I almost died of the cold on top of one once, in summer, 
in Copenhagen.  I have not, however, requested to sit up 
top.
All went well on the 
bus ride to Jerusalem until the road right up to the city, where the highway was 
clogged for about half an hour. I hadn’t noticed the lack of progress until the 
drivers of the three giant trucks that were blocking one lane of traffic were 
loudly and enthusiastically persuaded to relocate—or else. 
In Jerusalem I took 
the new light-rail train to my old neighbourhood for a delicious lunch with an 
old friend, then rode it back downtown. It runs into only two areas and they 
haven't got it right just yet. The ticket machine offers many possibilities if 
you acquire the information in your chosen language; that took some convincing. 
I chose the ‘ticket and no receipt’ option; the machine produced a receipt and 
no ticket. At least if the cops had checked, they couldn't arrest me for not 
paying. 
From downtown I walked 
cross-town forever until I came to the Dan Panorama Hotel, where Mrs Ditzy, 
organiser of the Tour of Jerusalem, had directed me to meet the other 
participants. Not so. The one person at the desk who seemed to know something 
instructed me to take the bus to the King David Hotel, about half-way back 
whence I came.  Already exhausted, I thought Hell with that, if 
I have to go back to the King David I will go directly to the bus with my 
home-town name on it. No—I'll figure it out. Undaunted, and all 
that.
The desk clerk offered 
to ring Mrs Ditzy's office and heard We're only open until 2 on Sunday. It’s 
three o’clock and they’re not open, he says. OK, I say, but I'm fairly sure it's 
Monday. A woman, chugging by in Jerusalem’s requisite hat, skirt and sneakers, 
hears us talking and asks if she can help. I snivel out a remarkably 
obtuse sentence.  Hold your anguish, says she, I'm taking 
that tour too and it starts right across the street. So why are you in this 
hotel? I like the toilets.  Understood.  She ushers me 
across a hugely wide and frantically busy street to meet up with a whole passel 
of skirted sneaker-wearers. Speaking English. Heaven. 
The bus, scheduled to 
leave at 15:45, arrives at 16:10. It's a huge red double-decker and the driver 
parks it half-on-the-sidewalk in the approved Jerusalem manner. We rush to get 
in and just when many of us are comfortably seated upstairs and down, a tiny old 
man rushes through, frantically yelling Get off the bus, get off the bussss!! 
You can't get on until you're checked off my list! GET OFF THE BUS!!! Must be Mr 
Ditzy. 
We descend to the 
sidewalk, trying to avoid eye-level ancient tree branches. As it happens, I land 
right under Mr Ditzy’s nose—or over it, as he comes up to my shoulder. He 
begins: BROWN!!! Where are Mr and Mrs BROWNNNNNN? A little old couple wriggles 
through the crowd and mounts the bus. SCHWARZ!! Where is SCHWARZZZ? Another 
couple, etc and so on. GOLDBERG!! MR GOLDBERG!!! Mr G nimbly leaps a garden 
railing to reach Mr D. I look down at his list and say Why don't you ask our 
names, then find them on the list? Oh no, he says with some horror, I can't do 
that. I believe him.
The next name is mine. 
Quietly I say I’m right here and he says You can get on now, gesturing like he's 
the Host with the Most, and I find a seat facing a charming couple who introduce 
themselves immediately. Within moments we discover a startling set of common 
experiences. They have relocated to Jerusalem only recently after visiting for 
many years; they have brilliant children doing wonderful things and I’m 
delighted to involve myself, although we are on a tour and we should be 
listening instead of laughing, I suppose.
In fact, we are the 
only ones laughing, the rest are trying to hear what the guide is saying. Her 
microphone goes off and on, off and on; the city is whizzing by and we are 
having great fun trying to put whole names to the ragged segments we are 
hearing.
We are shown the four 
corners of this beautiful city, glowing in the afternoon sun. I lived in 
Jerusalem for almost fifteen years so I find a number of opportunities to add my 
own arcane data: There are 57 steps from the street down to Mishkanot 
Sha’ananim, I climbed them every day when I worked there. That synagogue is the 
oldest in this area, someone once told me (irrefutable source). That restaurant 
was once—never mind, it’s an ugly story.
The enjoyable two-hour 
tour lasts for three hours. When it's over, I consider going out for dinner with 
my new friends and to my amazement, I decide I'd rather go home. Ninety minutes 
later I'm eating cheese out of my refrigerator. 
Jerusalem is now 
enormous and exhausting, with uncountable traffic signals. I’m so glad I don’t 
live there anymore but I’d visit again in a heartbeat.
cross posted Israel Thrives
 
 20 April. Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev won the 
dubious distinction of being the first terrorist operatives to import al Qaeda 
terror to the United States through a route outside the Middle East – the 
Caucasus. DEBKAfile: The pair were double agents, hired by US and Saudi 
intelligence to penetrate the Wahhabi jihadist networks which have spread across 
the Russian Caucasian, with the help of certain Saudi financial institutions. 
Instead, the two former Chechens betrayed their mission and went secretly over 
to the radical Islamist networks. This provides the answer to the big questions 
buzzing about the Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev since they carried out the twin 
Boston Marathon bombings Monday, April 15, leaving three dead, 180 injured and a 
police officer killed at MIT.
The two brothers by their movements were obviously 
trained and whoever trained them trained others. So the pair clearly did not act 
alone.
20 April. Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev won the 
dubious distinction of being the first terrorist operatives to import al Qaeda 
terror to the United States through a route outside the Middle East – the 
Caucasus. DEBKAfile: The pair were double agents, hired by US and Saudi 
intelligence to penetrate the Wahhabi jihadist networks which have spread across 
the Russian Caucasian, with the help of certain Saudi financial institutions. 
Instead, the two former Chechens betrayed their mission and went secretly over 
to the radical Islamist networks. This provides the answer to the big questions 
buzzing about the Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev since they carried out the twin 
Boston Marathon bombings Monday, April 15, leaving three dead, 180 injured and a 
police officer killed at MIT.
The two brothers by their movements were obviously 
trained and whoever trained them trained others. So the pair clearly did not act 
alone.
