The House of Fawaz (Oct. 11, 2015 – The Naked Journalist)
There is really an older part of Jerusalem, older than the Old City. It has been dubbed the City of David by a nonprofit who maintains the archeological sites. Even though there is no current proof that King David resided there, it has been shown to be where the earlier city of Jerusalem took roots.
Right below the Gihon Spring structure, in the City of David, is the House of Fawaz.
The Gihon Spring is the entrance for tourists who are visiting Hezekiah’s Tunnel. To prepare for a possible siege by the Assyrians, King Hezekiah built the tunnel in the 8th century B.C. to block the source of the waters of the Gihon and lead them straight down on the west into the City of David.
The Gihon Spring was located outside of the city walls and by building the 1750 foot tunnel, cut into solid bedrock; he brought the water into the city, protecting the city’s water supply from impending battles.
Visitors can walk the length of the two foot wide tunnel which still has a healthy supply of water running through it.
The City of David sits in the predominantly Arab neighborhood of Silwan. Some have described Silwan as the poorest Arab enclave in East Jerusalem. The archeologists who work there consider the area to be dangerous and do not stray outside of their archeological digs.
Everyone in Jerusalem knows how to get to the City of David. I knew how to get there. Evidently I found the only cab driver in town that didn’t know how to get there. I showed him the location and connecting streets on a map.
As he drove on, I could tell he was driving below the Gihon Spring area, into the eastern slope of the Kidron Valley, smack into Silwan. Angry with the driver, who seemed reluctant to be in this area and knowing that I was somewhere below the spring, I told him to let me out of the cab and I would walk the rest of the way up the side of the valley.
So there I stood, with my girlfriend and her friend and I had no clue how to get up to the spring. Enter Fawaz.
Fawaz, below the Gihon Spring House, Silwan, East Jerusalem, Oct. 11, 2015 (Photo by Walter L. Newton)
He was suddenly standing there as if a tourist alert tweet went out to the neighborhood. His English was good (my Arabic was non-existent after “Salaam).”
He informed us “you are at the spring.”
Well, there was probably a little context missing in our conversation. We were somewhere “below” the spring and his statement left me suspicious.
He offered to show us the spring. There were some old, wide stairs going down to a chain-locked gate and Fawaz wanted us to go down the stairs to see what was at the bottom.
At that point I overreacted, although I had reason to. I knew the reputation of this neighborhood; I knew that the spring had a proper entrance, with a ticket booth, guides and interpretive signage. I wasn’t going down those stairs.
I warned my girlfriend and her girlfriend not to go down those stairs. Call it woman’s intuition or something, they did.
They came back up the stairs, said there was water down there and there was signage inside to indicate we were at the spring.
Fawaz chimed in “I will send my brother to get your tickets; you come to my house for tea.”
I’m thinking to myself “tickets for a locked gate?”
We walked up some stairs, in the general direction where I knew the actual tourist entrance of the spring should be and about half way up, we turned up another set of stairs that lead to his house.
We sat down in a comfortable living room and listened to the story of the House of Fawaz.
In the House of Fawaz, Silwan, East Jerusalem, Oct. 11, 2015 (Photo by Walter L. Newton)
Fawaz spent eight years in Minnesota and went to high school there. He came back home to fix up his house and help take care of his family. He is a carpenter and part-time cab driver.
He was proud of the work he had done on his kitchen, pointing out that it looked like an American kitchen.
He sent his brother, with a 100 shekel banknote from us, up to the ticket office of the spring. The confusion I had earlier about the locked gate became clearer. Fawaz was just trying to let us know we were at the spring house, but below the official entrance.
After a little haggling over the price of some ancient coins he had for sale (I collect ancient coins), his brother returned with the tickets. We let the brother keep the remainder of the shekels.
I apologized to Fawaz and his family for my unfounded fear. I rarely have preconceived notions about people.
The heightened tensions in East and West Jerusalem had made me sensitive to the fact that I should be careful. I didn’t apologize for being careful, only for misunderstanding Fawaz and his motivations.
We left the House of Fawaz, his brother walking with us further up the stairs and there was the entrance to Hezekiah’s Tunnel.
Sure, the House of Fawaz made a few shekels from us. But the general commercial culture of Jerusalem (and most of the Middle East) is frequently based on bargaining. The money was not an issue for me.
It was a small adventure that I hadn’t planned on having, but I didn’t come to Israel to just experience comfortable tourist sites. I wanted to meet people, talk to them, and ask questions. Little did I know the House of Fawaz was on the agenda.