Off Season

It was a quiet week in the Valley of the Ghosts. That’s the name of the main street of the German Colony, the Jerusalem neighborhood where I am living these months of my sabbatical. The street gets its name from a passage in the Book of Joshua that describes the territorial boundaries for the tribe of Judah as the Israelites are entering the Land of Israel. The Hebrew is Emek Refa’im, which literally means the Valley of the Ghosts. Ironically, Emek Refa’im is hardly a ghost town. But, maybe the biblical ghosts were carefree, since Emek Refa'im is a bustling street in a highly desirable, liberal enclave in walking distance to the Old City and the center of Jerusalem. It’s a vibrant neighborhood filled with restaurants, jewelry stores, ice cream parlors, coffee shops, and boutiques, a place where I invariably run into people I know. During tourist seasons, it’s packed.

Apparently, early February isn’t much of a tourist season though except for the few South Americans I’ve seen who are here during their summer. It’s not that I don’t hear any English. In fact, many of the people who live in this area are immigrants from English speaking countries. But there are also plenty of native-born Israelis and immigrants from other countries, most noticeably France.

The absence of tourists means it’s a little quieter and easier to see the neighborhood as a place where regular people live, work, and play. The street gets off to a slow start in the early morning. Traffic is light and there are just a few people waiting for a bus or sitting in the cafes reading the paper. The pace picks up a bit later in the day when the restaurants begin to fill, and teenagers gather to hang out after school. It’s really quite normal, people going about their daily lives. In some ways, I could be anywhere.

But then again…..

The German Colony is something of a protected bubble in the midst of a complicated and often contentious city filled with distinct sub-groups who lead separate lives where they might pass each other on the street, but basically look straight through one another as if they really were ghosts. And that’s on a good day. Other times, they are fighting with each other in the streets and in the courts, to assert their right to a Jerusalem that fits their image. There seems to be a higher degree of tolerance in the Valley of the Ghosts, maybe because it’s an upscale neighborhood, maybe because it’s one of the few remaining Jerusalem neighborhoods where secular Israelis feel comfortable living, maybe because there are so many one-time Americans and Brits who live here. As removed as it is from the politics and pressures of the mainstream, there’s still no doubt that you are in Israel. During this quiet week, that has been most apparent to me at the gym I joined, about a 7-minute walk from my apartment. It’s both emblematic of this particular neighborhood and also tells a broader story of Jews and Jewish peoplehood.

First of all, it’s a women-only gym, not something that’s terribly commonplace in most western societies. It’s upscale in that offers a wide range of the usual classes – spinning, body sculpting, aerobics, yoga, and Pilates, and a variety of spa treatments such as massages, facials, manicures and the like. But it’s also somewhat shabby in that the locker room is chaotic and dusty, and about half the lockers seem to have broken doors. There are small exercise and weight rooms, a spinning room, and a large open studio, all with equipment that seems 2-3 generations removed from state-of-the-art.

On my first day, I took a spinning class. When I arrived, the teacher saw I was new and offered to help me adjust the bike. She opened the conversation in Hebrew and we continued that way. Once the class began, however, she switched over to a mix of about 80% English and with only a few key words in Hebrew. Language wasn’t the only thing that stood out though. Given the neighborhood and the single sex clientele, it’s not surprising that there would be a sizable number of Orthodox women members. Indeed, there were a few religiously observant women who kept their hair covered throughout the class. But there also was the woman who came into class, dressed in a long skirt and a wig who stripped down to gym clothes and removed her wig to reveal a full head of hair that she swept up into a ponytail. On the opposite end of the modesty spectrum, there was another woman who came in a bit late and used the class as her locker room as she changed out of her street clothes into her gym clothes in front of us all.

Another day I took a yoga class. That instructor made no pretense of speaking Hebrew. She was a young woman, originally from America, dressed in full yoga get-up but with her hair fully covered under a scarf. Not only didn’t she speak a word of Hebrew, but she also didn’t use very many yoga expressions in her practice. Apparently Namaste and Om don’t mix too well with Orthodox Judaism.

Finally, on day four at the gym, I took a class with a native Hebrew speaking instructor. Understanding her language wasn’t a problem, but following the complex aerobic step patterns certainly was!

The women in the gym were obviously comfortable with one another. They chatted amiably before class and as they worked out side by side in the exercise room. They shared news of children, trips, and new books they were reading – the stuff of everyday life. It didn’t really matter what you wore outside the gym; inside there was a shared purpose and warmth of spirit, key elements that build community (though of course, men were missing from the equation!).

So what is there to learn about off-season in the German Colony?

The gym tells me a lot about what is right and what is problematic about the German Colony in particular, and maybe Israel in general. Israel is still very much a society of immigrants and the German Colony is a place where English-speaking immigrants have made their own. Inside the gym or even when you venture out onto Emek Refa’im, it doesn’t really matter how religious or not you are, or where you fall on the political spectrum. There’s still enough you share in common with your neighbors to ensure a sense of familiarity and comfort. Staying in the bubble keeps you focused on the mundane essentials of life – caring for family, engaging in meaningful work, running errands, celebrating holidays and milestones, spending time with friends. After all, those are the aspects of life that give us the greatest meaning and joy. So maybe, the off-season is really the most important of times.


But the peace and quiet of off-season doesn’t last very long in Israel. When you change out of your gym clothes and put back your religious or secular garb, things get much more politically charged. Then the friendly chatter at the gym subsides. When you are a ghost (or at the gym) everybody looks and acts the same, but as soon as you leave the neighborhood, you enter back into reality where people are much more likely to retreat into their factions,ignore or malign those who disagree with their assumptions and points of view, and build walls to protect themselves and punish others. The safety and comfort of the bubble is ephemeral. You only have to open a newspaper or walk a few streets away to confront a much more complicated ever-present reality of a host of competing and contentious social, cultural, economic, historical, ethnic tensions that make up the complex weave that is Israel.