The Little House

In the first hours we spent in our house here in Jerusalem, I kept noticing the sounds of birds outside our windows. I hadn't heard that bright sound -- at least not at such volume -- in the last several months of New Jersey winter. So it was surprising to me that one of the first things I'd notice when we came to the city would be birdsong. Only after hearing the birds did I register the noise of traffic rushing by on the busier streets uphill and downhill from the house. And lastly, I began to notice the visuals: mostly, the sharp contrasts of the green trees, vines, and bushes growing against the buff-colored Jerusalem stone from which nearly every building here is constructed.

Of course, at the time, I didn't register these distinct sensory images. At first, everything just felt foreign and strange. I hadn't slept in 36 hours and I was irritable; I didn't feel "at home." The plants and birds didn't seem particularly beautiful to me; mostly everything just seemed different, and that made me feel an uneasiness that hung around for days. It's only after being here over a week, and starting to get over the jet-lag and colds that have slowed us all down, that I'm starting to appreciate the small beauties around our new, temporary house. While we don't quite feel "at home" yet, we're getting there.

Our house is in the Rehavia neighborhood in Jerusalem. It's one of the few free-standing, single-story homes in this area, if not the whole city. We are pretty sure it was built in the 1950s, and as the years passed and Jerusalem expanded, the city grew up around the house. There is a small garden around the perimeter of the house, but outside the garden walls, four-story apartment buildings tower above on all sides. I don't know if you've ever read "The Little House" by Virginia Lee Burton, but it's one of my favorite children's books, and I can't stop thinking about the story as I spend time in our Rehavia house. As the Wikipedia entry on the book describes it,

"The story centers on a house built at the top of a small hill, far out in the country. Her builder decrees that she "may never be sold for gold or silver" but is built sturdy enough to one day see his great-great-grandchildren's great-great-grandchildren living in her. The house watches the seasons pass, and wonders about the lights of the city, which grow ever closer.

Eventually a road is built in front of the house. This is followed by roadside stands, gas stations, and more little houses. Next, the small houses are replaced by tenements and apartments. Streetcars, an elevated railroad, and a subway appear to surround the house. Finally, two gigantic skyscrapers are built—one on each side; now living in the city, the house is sad because she misses being on the small hill in the countryside and that her exterior looks shabby due to no one living in her and the city's environment" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Little_House).

I have no idea if this is at all an accurate representation of this house's history -- certainly that last part about the shabbiness of the house's exterior is does not fit this place, which has been carefully tended. But sometimes I can't help but imagine what this house has seen over the past 60-plus years.

The street our house faces is a dead end that turns into a paved path down to a bustling main road, on which there are several bus stops (and the playground I mentioned in a previous post). So we're lucky in that few cars drive past our house. On the other hand, there is a lot of pedestrian traffic on the road, so it's pretty easy to stare out the big picture window or stand on the porch to see who's passing by: commuters coming from the bus stop, bikers, runners, couples, families, and about a million stray cats... anytime during the day, Alexander can step up on the stone windowsill and check out what's going on in the street. There's definitely a lot more street activity here than in East Windsor!

Directly out back, we have our indispensable clothes line (we don't have a dryer, but luckily, things dry fast outside here), and down the walkway you can see a sampling of the many different kinds of trees growing in the garden. I already mentioned the orange tree. Just now, a plum tree is coming into bloom (you can see its purple flowers). And there are several tall, tall pine trees with vines growing so thickly among them it's hard to tell tree from tree from vine.

Because it's been over 75 degrees the past two days, we've been opening up the doors and windows and spending time on the patio on the side of the house, which overlooks the garden and one of the large apartment buildings. This morning, a neighbor on the ground floor of the building shouted up a greeting in English. Turns out Rachel is originally from New York, used to teach high school English, and moved to Israel just three years ago. Rachel also told us she's a harpist, and that we might sometimes hear her playing out on her back porch. Sure enough, about an hour later, I was standing in the kitchen wondering if Eric had put the radio on some classical music station, when I looked outside and saw through the trees the outline of a harp on Rachel's deck. Now, life here doesn't always feel as idyllic as this incident makes it sound, but I will admit, it was pretty cool to hear harp music filter up through the windows along with those twittering birds.

Inside the house, there are basically four rooms. Here's the living/dining room:

 

And the kitchen:

 



 

Our bedroom (with Benjamin's crib):

 

And Alexander's room:

We're all getting used to the new layout, and for the most part, it's working out well. Now that we've finally got the hang of the solar hot water system, and can take hot showers, we're much happier! Our main challenge, as always, is to keep an eye on our intrepid toddler, who doesn't realize that basically everything here -- floors, fireplace, coffee table, windowsills, and outdoor walls and walkways -- is made of stone. So it's a little nerve-wracking watching him motor around this place, or engage in one of his favorite activities -- jumping on furniture -- but we're doing our best. Keep your fingers crossed that he stays safe as we continue to settle in to our "Little House."