For the past 20 years, my family has had the privilege of living in Jerusalem’s Jewish Quarter, the beautifully reconstructed section of the Old City, where Jews lived for centuries.

A generation has now grown up who know no other home but the lanes and byways of the Jewish Quarter. To these youngsters it is as natural to “run down to the Western Wall for a prayer service” as it is for us to wonder at this miracle.

They climb the domed rooftops as other kids climb trees; run along the ancient Turkish wall ramparts on scavenger hunts, hardly aware of their great historic importance; and learn to guide and direct bewildered tourists talking unidentifiable languages to the religious and archaeological sites of interest.

I’m amazed how we’ve all turned into amateur archaeologists and historians. When I was growing up in the U.S., I couldn’t think of a more boring subject than archaeology. But when an ancient Roman road is discovered under your house; and next door the aristocratic Herodian neighborhood where a priestly clan lived gradually emerges; and the synagogue you pray in was established by Nachmanides in 1267, you can’t help getting excited by “digs.”

The privilege of living where our ancestors trod is brought home every time we pass yesteryear’s magnificent synagogues or hear a guide describe the midnight prayers of Beit El’s Kabbalists several centuries ago. It is intensified by our own son who studies at a Yeshiva next door, carrying on a tradition, not only in context, but in location as well.

NEIGHBORHOOD
REJUVENATION
When we first moved into the Jewish Quarter in 1972, much of the area was still rubble. Less than 100 Jewish families lived here then, and there was a great feeling of commonality. The kids felt that they were like collective farm-dwellers in an urban setting. They traveled to school in the New City together, proudly called themselves B’nei Chomot (Children of the Walls), and enjoyed the special attention the residents of this unique neighborhood receive. Even today, tourists still photograph the kindergarten tots on “the first Jewish slide in 2,000 years within the Old City.”
Gradually the neighborhood took shape. We watched the renovations of old ruins, and the construction of new buildings where the old could not be salvaged. The Society for the Renovation of the Jewish Quarter, given a government mandate to rebuild the area, took pains to retain the special character of the old places.

Our apartment is built around an inner courtyard whose harsh stonework has been relieved by rooftop gardens and trees. Bay windows overhang the cobbled lanes, arched passageways, stone embellishments, and “bridgerooms” which connect two buildings (from which naughty children throw down toys on unsuspecting pedestrians walking underneath). There are also two public squares where neighbors congregate to chat or watch the children play. A feeling of community pervades the area.

Today there are 700 families and many students living in the Jewish Quarter. There are three schools and many yeshivot. There is a constant stream of visitors. Day and night, people pass under our bay window on their way to the Western Wall, sometimes yelling to each other without realizing that it’s also a residential area and someone is trying to sleep at 3 a.m.

The stream becomes a tidal wave during the Chol HaMoed intermediate festival days, Tisha B’Av, Yom Yerushalayim and increasingly, during the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

The Western Wall dominates our lives. There is always something going on down there - a military ceremony, a special prayer meeting of Russian Jews, a demonstration, or culmination of a tour. We receive many more visitors than we would otherwise: people just stop in on their way to the Western Wall... and could they please use the bathroom, get a drink, leave a heavy bag or change the baby?

Like our forefathers before us who always had a large jug of cold water ready in the summer and a finjan of hot water on boil in the winter, we’ve learned to keep supplies, especially during the holiday season.
HOME AT LAST
The most accessible part of the holiest spot in the world also has an irresistible attraction for the spiritually inclined. Jewish youth searching for an identity and an answer to life’s meaning have been “picked off the Wall” and directed to colleges of Jewish studies.

We are often asked to take visitors on Shabbat and we see a lot of knap-sacked travelers passing through Israel on their way to India or Europe, looking for “a happening,” an experience. Many of them are serious-minded people, who have never had an opportunity to learn about their heritage.

It is very gratifying to see how they change and solidify after a few weeks of Torah learning. Sometimes they are joined by siblings and even parents, who are impressed and educated - so that sometimes, whole families become changed, over time, by a casual visit to the Western Wall.

We, too, have been changed by residing near the Western Wall. We feel the linkage of the ages more than the average Israeli, and the continuation of our generation with the past. As evidence of the Jewish presence 1,000, 2,000 and even 3,000 years ago is dug up, our roots with Jerusalem are ever strengthened. From the wonder of our visitors and the special relationship that strangers have with the Jewish Quarter today, we realize how lucky we are to be living here day after day, year after year.

As first-grade classes from all over Israel pass under our bridge room on their way to celebrate their first siddur; as soldiers finish their grueling 70 kilometer hike as the peak of their training course in the Jewish Quarter; as rabbis and heads of state pay tribute by visiting this holy site on their official visits, the inevitable question engages me: “Why me? How did I and my family merit the mitzvah of living here, when so many generations could only face eastward and pray to return?”

Rather than understand this incredible privilege, I only hope that my children and children’s children will continue to appreciate the fact that after so many years, we are home at last.

This story originally appeared in The Jewish Homemaker