Yom Kippur at the Wall

WE JUST had one of those ultimate Jerusalem moments. Standing by the Western Wall at sunset on the eve not just of Shabbat but Yom Kippur, as the call to evening prayer at one of the Old City mosques mixed with the gentle wailing of the devout Haredi at prayer, Israel sniper overhead silhouetted against the darkening night sky, there it was: the essence of what all the fuss is about. I'm sure if I'd craned my neck I could have seen the Church of the Holy Sepulchre too.

Despite being but one of a swell of tourists, it felt like snooping to witness one of the most religious sights at arguably the world's most religious site, yet I couldn't tear myself away. A Louis in tow gave me an excuse to linger because he was fascinated by it all, begging me to take him up close. I was shy to barge in, but seeing his interest, an old lady gestured me in to the bit segregated for women - or "for mummies, little boys, and babies, but not daddies", as Louis put it.

He already knew about the religions festival because I'd had to explain why we were dashing to the shops yet again at lunchtime to buy a last bottle of milk before the Shabbat shutdown, but once at the Wall I think the lack of music and bands confused him. You see, the last festival we were at was a street festival in SE1, and before that, watching Lenny Kravitz at a music festival in Hyde Park. Which left me rather stumbling for words to try and explain what everyone was doing, gently rocking back and forth, prayer book in hand, and for what purpose. Telling him people were wishing for things that they wanted made it all seem horribly materialistic, especially when he started confusing it with the time we threw a penny into a wishing well.

But he nailed it eventually: "Like no killing," he said. Exactly. Someone get him a seat at the peace talks.

A tram fan

FORGET THE Dome of the Rock or the Western Wall, Jerusalem has a new top attraction. Especially if you're three. But, this being the city that it is, it's not without its controversies.

The Jerusalem light railway, or the tram to Louis, divides opinion because the first (and thus far, only) line runs from the Jewish settlement of Pisgat Ze'ev in East Jerusalem (the Arab bit) to Mount Herzl in the west. Which to your clueless observer (hitherto me) might sound unifying, but granted that settlements are illegal - because they sit on land captured by Israel from Egypt, Jordan, and Syria during the 1967 war - riles those who want East Jerusalem to be the capital of a future Palestine because it tightens Israel's grip on the disputed territory.

Not that you think about the potential political implications of a bright, shiny, new tram if you're three. All you want to know is when you can ride it and whether you'll see "where the trams sleep" at the end of the line. I answered the first question by jumping aboard with them both but despite giving Louis free rein as to when we got off, we only went as far as Damascus Gate at the edge of the Old City before heading back up the hill in the other direction to the shuk. He immediately wished we'd stuck it out longer because he spotted - joy of joys - a track splitter up ahead.

Being brand new - it only started running in August - it made for a pleasant half an hour or so even if we couldn't get on the first one because it was so crowded. But there were plenty of fun signs to spot while we waited (road signs giving wheeled vehicles a run for their money on the excitement front for Louis right now). And the ultimate bonus is it's free to ride on because it's still being tested, which means that along with the massive bunches of herbs once we made it to the shuk it's pretty much the only thing that's good value in Israel. I predict we'll be like the homeless on the Circle line as was, riding it up and down, before next week's out.

Swings and Roundabouts

THREE DAYS down and the Old City may still elude me, but boy am I notching up my Jerusalem playgrounds. Happily for all three of us there are two beauties each within about seven minutes from our flat. Not that Raf's quite up to clambering up a rope ladder, but given the speed he backward crawls along the leather sofa I wouldn't bet against that happening before our stint here is up. He's happy enough sling snoozing while Louis scampers around though.

As guide books seem to have a thing against taking small people on holiday (see bwb posts passim), we're on our own when it comes to scouting them out. Some, like the multi-slide affair in HaPa'amon (or Liberty Bell Park, so named for its replica of Philadelphia's Liberty Bell), are obvious. Others, like the smaller one in Solovkov Park (pictured), less so. And others still, like one I stumbled across a block or so off the main drag in the German Colony while Louis grabbed a surprise late afternoon buggy nap on our first day, require a poke around the back streets. They're the ones I like best: where families spill out of their homes at the end of the day to congregate for a mass gossip while their kids run off yet more of their steam after a day at the 'gan' (daycare).

So far, we've mainly hit the playgrounds in the early afternoon, when they're all but deserted. The most Israeli new mums can take off is six months, of which only three are paid (by the government rather than their employer) so 'gan' places are in high demand, and there's a distinct absence of any little people around until their mothers have finished work for the day. Which will make it much harder to find Louis any little playmates. The poor child was so desperate for someone other than me to talk to today that he monopolised a brief Skype chat I had with a friend. Goodness knows how he'll cope when it really is just me and them 24/7. I'll find out soon enough though as DJ's first trip looms large next week. Perhaps if we can hit the after 'gan' crowd, and I can find out the Hebrew for 'slide', and 'my turn', Louis will manage to strike up a conversation or two on the climbing frame. Now where's that Hebrew-for-kids app?

Yom Kippur and kids

TALKING OF fasting, we'll need to come Friday, and not just because I'll have run out of cash by then. It's Yom Kippur, or Day of Atonement, which caps ten days of reflection since Rosh Hashanah, Jewish New Year. It's the holiest of Holy Days, all the more so this year since it falls on Shabbat. The gist is abstinence: from eating, from driving, from pretty much everything bar intensive praying. That much is clear from the warnings I've had regarding making sure we've got enough food in, and giving sight-seeing a miss for 24 hours. We're talking a total national shut down, from the borders to the roads (although I'm told that the more secular minded take to their bikes and blades).

But what is rather more hazy is where that all leaves an avowedly secular Louis. (My attempts to explain why I'd donned what was effectively a curtain to nurse Raf in a market cafe today by talking about people's religious beliefs had him zoning me out even quicker than usual.) Where, for example, does the Torah stand on playing? Are climbing frames out? Swings frowned upon? And just what do the city's growing number of Haredi inhabitants do with their vast broods in between those five visits to the Temple? I'd like to see them try and make Louis sit still in contemplative fashion all day long. Come to think of it, if they could swing that, then perhaps the Haredi guide to parenting is the book for which the world has been waiting. I can see it on the bestseller lists now.....

Babies who fast

TWENTY-FOUR hours into life in Jerusalem and I'm no nearer thinking up a new name for a blog. With two tiny people in tow, I saw scope in the Wailing Wall or something about needing to Settle them in our own little corner of one-time Palestine. Then there was the Advent Adventure we'll be having come December. That's "we" as in my very own Angels in the Holy Land (son #2 is a Rafael after all).

But all those, and others, lacked the neutrality I sought as the unofficial plus one of a BBC producer. (It's an unaccompanied post, so we're not really here.) Not that Auntie exactly has a reputation for detachment in these parts. I swear the immigration guy was about to wave us through until Daddy J mentioned the "B" word. Then it was all, "Why were you born in Istanbul?" and "What was your father doing there?".

So babieswhobrunch it is, and will remain, although if the evidence of last night's shopping foray is anything to go by then babieswhofast might be more apt. Admittedly it was 10pm in a posh mini-market in one of the city's better-heeled neighbourhoods, but £6 for a box of Weetabix? The good news for Louis is that henceforth he'll be able to have olives for all three meals rather than just two.