The houses, the temples of the faiths, the museums, are buildings in postmodern style, in small bricks of white stone which remain in the heart, rebuilt from the past, but they give the impression to be agile monuments crossing the future, the atmosphere itself appears without time, like a crystal shell wrapping all the worlds, the faiths, the traditions, the religions, the rites, the peoples which live together in that city, everyone in his own time as if every one else and their time did not exist.

My taxi moved slowly across the clean avenues of the religious jewish quarter, sliding among the pious men in white shirt and covered by black wears and hats, the women with long and respectful dresses, the dozens and dozens of baby prams, gift of the present to the future. We stopped at the beginning of Rav Sorotskin Road, every road had the name of a scholar of the Bible, I can not explain the sensation pushing me, but I asked the taxi driver, who appeared to have forgotten the rough manners of the big city and who addressed the passers-by asking information with calm and respect and in the same tone they replied to him.

"Are you sure that none will say to me anything?" I hesitated before getting out from the car "it is as I had the impression to violate their world, with the wears and the manners of mine..." His answer reassured me and he asked me a strangely reasonable fare, in those places I had no need to ask the help of my various souls in order to save money.
I approached cautious the small bench on which sat three scholars of the Bible who stared at me with curiousity and smiling and I stopped, until a young girl addressed me without any fear, asking me which civic number I was looking for and she openened my heart, that furrow between religious and secular people which often divides the jewish communities outside Israel, there I did not feel it and when the scholars stood to take a bus, I sat in their bench and it appeared to me an extraordinary repetition of moments to watch from the bench, curious and smiling, three ortodoxes passing nearby on the side walk.

Eti

Eti appeared at the agreed time, without a second in advance or late, beautiful as two years before, the long sky dress, I greeted her without grazing her, I knew that the rules of the rite did not allow her to touch the hand of a man. She drove the car skillfully into the small roads which took to the walls of the ancient city, towards that arc of clear stone standing in the middle and which was in my heart and I did not realized how it was in hers too. It was strange, but for the first time scouring the roads of Jerusalem, I was hearing none talking about the times, the war, the terror attempts, the alternate path of peace, maybe it is enough to have a hope of change and the human being forgets soon the banality of evil, beacuse evil is not human and becomes only remembrance, but not memory of every moment.

...to be continued...