By Clare Needham

Having lived in New York, what I notice about Jerusalem is its often empty streets.  There is, of course, the mess of the Jaffa Road tramway construction and its pedestrian traffic jam, Old City claustrophobia, or the weekend crowds around the city center bars.  But take the principal King George Street: you climb and descend its curves a relative loner, nothing to keep you company but its massive hotels (Sheraton, Prima Kings), and the looming, latest construction of the next hotel or apartment complex-to-be. 

So I miss critical mass, and crowds.  When I learned about last Saturday night’s protest against religious coercion, and saw that over 1,000 people (on Facebook, of course) had pledged to come, there was no way I couldn’t go (I should also mention here that since I work for the Israel Religious Action Center, whose very mission is the advancement of religious pluralism and freedom, I felt particularly obliged – and motivated – to attend.)

King George Street was packed.  Walking north from Kikar Paris was an unfathomably long line of protestors – the official count is somewhere around 2,000, and I’ll trust this figure.  The crowd moved slowly: with dignity.  The protest was against religious coercion, but more importantly, it was for religious pluralism – the mood of the protest was positive, almost festive, as if every attendee were in a state of happy shock that so many had decided enough was enough, they had to come. 

_ By the time I had pushed through the crowd and reached Kikar Zion, it had become difficult to hear the speeches – someone had purposefully cut a crucial cable – so I found myself eavesdropping on an interview conducted by a documentary filmmaker and two longtime Jerusalem residents.  The filmmaker explained he was in Jerusalem for the year to make a documentary about “Jerusalem and all its troubles.”  The locals gave him a briefing on the Haredim.  He looked confused.  “But who pays for them not to work?” he asked.  I knew the answer, and had to restrain myself from snapping back, “the State, of course.”

But I would in no way call myself an authority on Jerusalem.  Most of these facts – the reality of Haredi political and cultural power in the city – were new to me just three months before.  So I looked forward to hearing from the people I work with, who know Jerusalem in ways that I cannot.
 
Our legal intern, Noa, not one to be emotionally effusive, said that Saturday’s protest had nevertheless “hit a nerve.” “I was surprised by how many people turned out – I thought it would be a couple hundred people max, and I think the huge turnout shows how bad the situation is in Jerusalem, how people are really becoming more aware of it.  It was a wake-up call.  With the Karta parking lot and Intel protests, people have started to realize their voice needs to be heard as well.”

I asked her what other protests she’s attended in Jerusalem have been like.  “I’ve been to political protests, and they vary in size, but the Karta parking lot counter-protest [against the Haredim’s violent demonstration] was attended by only a hundred or so people.” It’s worth noting that this counter-protest occurred only a few months before last Saturday.

“But,” Noa continued, “Saturday night I was proud.  I was very impressed to see a real mix of people standing together and calling for non-violence, pluralism, and tolerance.  One of the special things about Jerusalem is its diversity, but this is usually kept hidden or restricted to certain neighborhoods.  Last night, everyone came together: religious and secular, more traditional Jews and women with kippot, individuals and families.  And we were all briefly united, despite our differences – and there are critical political and religious differences.”

Michal, our Director of Media Resources, head of Information Technology, and Legal Secretary (most people at IRAC feel like they work at least two jobs, but Michal can officially claim three) felt a similar sense of pride and unity.  “Our march was dignified.  It was quiet.  No one threw any rocks.  I liked standing in Kikar Zion and seeing the mass of people behind me on Ben Yehuda.  I felt a sense of hope I haven’t felt for a long time.  I’m sick and fed up with Haredi violence – the police don’t do enough, and our secular mayor just tries to please everyone and can’t.”

Noa has lived in Jerusalem for the past six years, and has been coming to the city every weekend for the past twenty years to visit family.  Her mother and grandmother lived and grew up in Jerusalem.  She remembers a very different city.  “Of course there are noticeably more religious people here, and more religious neighborhoods.  But what has really changed is the violence the Haredim are allowed to get away with.”

Michal, a Jerusalem native who grew up in the German Colony and has lived in Kiryat Menachem for the past nineteen years, spoke of feeling that the Haredim “are closing in on us.  They’re moving to Kiryat Yovel, they’re protesting against Intel – no one would have touched Intel before! Intel brings a lot of employment opportunities to Jerusalem – it’s not something you want to fight against.” She mentioned neighborhoods like Ramot Eshkol, which used to be a neighborhood for academics and professors at Hebrew University.  It is now almost completely Haredi.  In her own neighborhood, Michal said the atmosphere has changed and become noticeably more religious and conservative.  “The streets are closed, you can’t listen to music on Shabbat, women can’t dress as they normally would, and they feel uncomfortable if they don’t dress according to Haredi standards.”

But Michal and Noa both choose to live in Jerusalem.  “I could live in Tel Aviv, where everyone is like me,” said Noa, “I could go to restaurants on Shabbat, not even notice it’s Shabbat, but for now I’ve chosen not to.  Jerusalem is a more complex place to live.  But I don’t want to completely relinquish my values.”

I asked them what their breaking point was – what would have to happen so that it became personally unacceptable to live in Jerusalem? Michal said that she would leave if Haredi dominance became “a threat to my kids – if my kids became disadvantaged because their schools were no longer funded, and only religious schools were.  And if the few places still open on Shabbat were closed…”

“I’d leave if the Cinematheque [the local art house theater] closed.” said Noa [I would have to agree].  “It’s a cultural, secular symbol.”

Just last week, the Jerusalem Municipality ran an advertisement on its website that featured a listing of special citywide weekend events.  Included on the list was a film set to show on Friday.  The Haredim had the advertisement promptly taken off the site.

Such an example of Haredi influence and power is not uncommon in Jerusalem.  But it baffles Noa.  “There are ultra-Orthodox Jews in big cities all over the world, and they manage to lead observant lives without violent outbursts toward the rest of the population.  It’s absurd that when they live in the Jewish state they can behave as such.”

She continued, “I wonder if someone who doesn’t live in Jerusalem cares about this or not.  Only when people understand that what happens in Jerusalem affects everyone – Jerusalem is a microcosm of Israel, and its problems will one day blow up in our faces if we’re not careful.”
 
Certainly the work of the Israel Religious Action Center has never seemed more necessary – and timely – as now. 

Early Saturday morning, as I stumbled sleepily from the Tel Aviv sherut and drifted up Jerusalem’s empty streets to my apartment, I would not have believed that less than 24 hours later these same streets would be packed with people, and that I would be standing shoulder to shoulder among them, part of a very pluralistic crowd.

Clare Needham is this year’s communications fellow at the Israel Religious Action Center.