In the previous blog about the Ashkenazi neighborhood of Mazkeret Moshe the focus was primarily on the strict house rules. All of this was to prevent decay from gaining the upper hand in the shortest amount of time. All in all, the strict approach seems to be working out quite well, while also keeping a sideways glance at the Sephardic Ohel Moshe, where greenery has continued to dominate. However, to say that Mazkeret Moshe is still an oasis of green is a kind of fata morgana of days gone by.
As you now hobble through both neighborhoods, you see clear differences. In Ohel Moshe, trees, plants, and flowers still define the scenery, but in Mazkeret Moshe, that is now a lot less. This is partly because people also started to build on the courtyards fairly quickly, and the greenery was the first victim of this.
In that respect, Ohel Moshe has managed to preserve its character quite well and underwent significant modernization in the 1980s, which is why a lot of it still looks fresh and attractive. Meanwhile, things in Mazkeret Moshe are stagnating. That stagnation, or rather that decay, began in the 1930s. The neighborhood is slated for demolition. It is the familiar refrain of the neighborhoods in those years. The British, who were in charge in Jerusalem at the time, put a stop to it. After all, the housing shortage is too high, and bulldozing a residential area will only worsen the situation. They come up with a ’temporary measure’ that prohibits demolition.
Naturally, this leads to further decay, and many people leave the neighborhood. The ’temporary’ measure is not lifted until 1992, long after the British have ignominiously scurried back to their island. In the meantime, the neighborhood has become a desolate place, and of the original houses, more than 20% have been converted into shops. Something like that can bring some life to the place, but the immediate vicinity of the Mahane Yehuda Market ensures that those shops are not exactly flourishing either. Potential customers prefer the nearby shuk.
However, Mazkeret Moshe manages to attract young residents, just like in Ohel Moshe, but the gap is large. And where Ohel Moshe has a hip, trendy image with well-known figures from politics and culture, Mazkeret Moshe can’t really offer anything to counter that. It is a neighborhood without compelling stories and without prominent figures that still capture the imagination. It fails to give the neighborhood its own ‘face’. In that respect, it seems just like any other Ashkenazi neighborhood here: sober, somewhat somber, and, still, dilapidated.
It is perhaps going a bit too far to attribute the current situation entirely to the Ashkenazi character of the neighborhood. That kind of character was once the intention in 1882, but the population composition of Mazkeret Moshe is certainly not truly homogeneous. From the start, the neighborhood has had a considerable number of Sephardic residents. In our current eyes, this may not sound too remarkable, let alone that it is even remotely interesting. In those days, and sometimes even now, however, it is not common for Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews to live next to each other. And of course, not at all when it comes to marriage. The very idea! One important exception to this is the Sephardic Sir Moses Montefiore and his Ashkenazi wife, Judith. But, well, now and then, you just have to tactically turn a blind eye when financial need is high.
The various Sephardic influences in Mazkeret Moshe sometimes make it a bit confusing when you walk around the neighborhood, which at first glance appears very Ashkenazi. Such a confusing example is Shirizli Street, which ‘cuts through’ almost the entire neighborhood. Shirizli is one of the most prominent intellectuals of Jerusalem of his time. And thus also a very prominent resident of the Nachlaot, but of the neighboring Ohel Moshe. The man emerges as a champion of the Ladino language and culture. He apprentices at a very young age with Eliezer Ben Yehuda (the ‘inventor’ of modern Hebrew) to eventually start his own printing press. He eventually buys a printing press and, from his home in Ohel Moshe, he prints his Ladino publications.
After the First World War, he opens his own shop at the back of his home on Agrippas Street. There, he is engaged in collecting and selling rare manuscripts and antique books, written in Ladino. His house is still in Ohel Moshe, but why the originally Ashkenazi Mazkeret Moshe has named a street after him, remains a mystery to me.
It should be clear by now that Mazkeret Moshe has produced few special figures and stories, or that there are eye-catching buildings or details to admire. A person doesn’t get to process a lot of stimuli here. However, under the watchful eye of the most prominent resident of the neighborhood, the eucalyptus tree, there is a special building with a special story: the ‘Chesed ve Rachamim- synagogue.
Unlike in other neighborhoods, this house of worship was not in operation from the beginning in 1882. In the first decades, the then-inconspicuous building served as a residence and then for a long time as a pub. A rather strange duck in the pond within the very religious community of that time. It is the place where workers from the nearby Mahane Yehuda market come together to relax after a hard day and to chat, but especially to drink. To drink heavily. This regularly leads to genuine public drunkenness, and that begins to irritate more and more people.
One of them is the Sephardic Yitzhak Armoza, and he soon notices that more people want to remove this alcoholic stain from their midst. He collects a nice sum of money to encourage the pub owner to close his doors. Should the owner still have doubts, Armoza can use another ‘means of persuasion’: his massive stature. He is the neighborhood butcher and boner at the market, and as a result, he has built up muscles that will nip any potential resistance in the bud. Tapping glasses of beer or boning massive cattle: both have consequences for muscle mass.
One day, in the early 1920s, he walks into the Ashkenazi pub. The bartender sees that this visitor is not one of the regular customers, and his appearance is not that of someone who enjoys downing a drink. Armoza is a man of few words and gets straight to the point. He proposes that the pub closes and that he is willing to pay a suitable amount for it. After his proposal, Armoza looks him straight in the eyes. The owner immediately realizes that he has little choice, especially after he hints that he is speaking on behalf of the boners from the market. He quickly counts his blessings and agrees to close his place. The alcoholic stain is gone. The place turns into a synagogue.
And look now, 100 years later. By now, anyone can shamelessly get drunk at one of the many bars of the Mahane Yehuda market, and Mazkeret Moshe has one of the most beautiful synagogues in the Nachlaot. In the doors of the main entrance, twelve precious stones are engraved, referring to the Twelve Tribes of Israel. And even the back of the synagogue on the Agrippas Street side is a very prominent sight. A huge clock, also with the Twelve Tribes, dedicated to the Armoza family. Indeed, Jerusalem knows how to honor its heroes.
The synagogue has now become a tourist attraction, and you really have to do your best to stand alone in front of the doors, because there is always a guide with another flock of tourists. The interior is said to have the same vibrant colors as on the outside doors. Unfortunately, those doors are always closed when we pass by. One day we will make a new attempt…
