sitting on the edge of the holiest city


Jerusalem, my dear, I  have enjoyed five months worth of photo-taking adventures, which led me all over the country this time and started me on a political discourse that may never see the end of the days. I have discovered the depths of a conflict that is breaching endlessly in all matters and all conversations. I felt the depths of my soul until there was no more to see and no more to discuss about. And, now that I have reached that point, I am ready to go. Ready to stop sitting on the uncomfortable chair overlooking the edge of the holiest city of all. I am through with its controversy and its political discourse, I am turning around and getting back to another chair, somewhere far away where the views are slightly different and the resolutions maybe a bit easier to achieve.  Yet, Jerusalem, once again, you outdid yourself and have given me perspective on somewhere else to end-up, somewhere else I need to call home, somewhere else I must feel to dig roots and grow tall from, a place to call mine, because, as holy as you get, living in your proximity it is just still too hard for me…despite the energy you emanate and the subtle layers of content you are beaming of, you remain a city at war, a place where one cannot feel like simply living even as a Jew. Jerusalem, dear,  you remain beautiful and damned by human hands, confused and chaotic and yet almost apparently pristine at times, and when one misses you, it is like missing a part of oneself, but once one has you it feel much like the same: A sickness to the stomach with no end and no begin, no explanation and no real reasons.  Jerusalem, you will have my heart always, but just a piece of it, the rest I take with me, somewhere where I will find a more comfortable chair, I will sit on it and decide to call it home. But thank you, Jerusalem. Thank you for lending me that chair once more, it always get a good use, but it is not soft enough for me to sit in it for too long…

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