Jerusalem’s light railway: commuting with a rifle through the conflicted city

What can a train ride tell you about a city? Quite a lot in Jerusalem, where the city's new light railway trundles its way along the contentious green line and many holy sites


Passengers ride a light rail train in Jerusalem. The route means many of the city's divided residents have to at least tolerate each other for a short journey. The light rail train in Jerusalem means many of the city's divided residents have to at least tolerate each other for a short journey. Photograph: Nasser Shiyoukhi/AP

The four teenage boys on the Jerusalem light rail belonged to the global brotherhood of lads. Dressed in jeans, hoodies and trainers; they slouched in their seats, lanky legs stretching halfway across the carriage, joking around, rolling an empty water bottle between their feet.

Nearby, another passenger was visibly irritated. He was perhaps 10 or 15 years older, wearing a neat beard, sunglasses, shorts and a faded t-shirt – and drumming his fingers on the magazine of a battered assault rifle lying across his lap. The man was Israeli, possibly from the settlement of Pisgat Ze'ev where he had boarded the train. The boys were Palestinian, most likely from Beit Hanina, an Arab neighbourhood.

From opposing sides of one of the world's most enduring conflicts – and the city at its epicentre – the young man and the teenagers eyeballed each other for 10 uneasy minutes until the boys spilled out of the carriage, laughing and giving the finger as they went. Provocative behaviour, a machine gun, a city built on tension and conflict – this was a potentially explosive mix. But it passed.

What can a train ride tell you about a city? Quite a lot in Jerusalem, where the light railway has, following almost a decade of construction chaos, been running since August 2011. Looking out of the sleek glass and steel carriages, you can trace some of the complex and troubled history of the place; looking inside gives you a snapshot of the city's population in rare proximity.

There are few places where the distinct tribes of Jerusalem mingle: the main hospital, the shopping mall, the Biblical zoo, sometimes even at McDonalds. Latterly, there has also been the light railway. The different groups rarely interact, or even make eye contact, but they attain an uneasy co-existence.

Men dressed in ultra-orthodox monochrome, under hats and coats even in the Middle Eastern summer, squeeze on board, averting their eyes from young women tourists in shorts and skimpy t-shirts. Religious Jewish mothers, hair bound in long winding scarves, with a brood of small children clutching at their ankle-length skirts, stand alongside Palestinian women in skinny jeans and elaborate hijabs framing carefully made-up faces and groomed eyebrows.
A Muslim man in traditional robes walks on the grass where a light rail passes next to the Old City walls in East Jerusalem. A Muslim in traditional robes walks by the light rail as it passes the Old City walls in East Jerusalem. Photograph: Jim Hollander/EPA

Israeli soldiers in uniform, some armed with guns and all apparently armed with smart phones, lounge on seats opposite Palestinian labourers heading for jobs in Jewish areas of the city. Christian pilgrims en route to Via Dolorosa and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the site of Jesus's crucifixion, mingle with Muslims heading to the sacred Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa mosque, and Jews intent on praying at the revered Western Wall, the last surviving remnant of the Second Temple.

The clang of an approaching train's warning to pedestrians to get off the open tracks has become part of the city's soundtrack, along with the constant honking of car horns, the five-times-a-day Muslim call to prayer, the occasional peal of church bells and the Friday afternoon siren that marks the start of the Jewish sabbath.

Construction began on the city’s new railway back in 2002 but was dogged by delays (in part because of the city’s archaeological sensitivities), arguments over its route, and budget overruns. It finally opened in 2011 amid Israeli fears that the railway would become a target for terrorism, and Palestinian claims that it was part of a plan to consolidate Jewish control over the city.

Israel seized the Arab eastern part of Jerusalem in the 1967 six-day war, later annexing it in a move deemed illegal under international law. It declared that the city – whose eastern sector the Palestinians want as the capital of their future state – was henceforth “indivisible”. The following year, a “masterplan” was published, which stated its “first and cardinal rule was to ensure [Jerusalem's] unification … to build the city in a manner that would prevent the possibility of its being repartitioned.”

Over the ensuing 46 years, Israel has established numerous Jewish settlements in east Jerusalem to fulfil this aim. A network of roads has been constructed to connect them to the city centre; the light railway, once complete, will perform a similar purpose.

Its route – a single line at present – takes passengers on a political and historical, as well as physical, journey. One end starts in the south-west of the city, close to Yad Vashem, Israel's haunting national memorial to the Holocaust, a searing reminder of the need for a Jewish homeland. Also nearby are the Mount Herzl national civil and military cemeteries, the final resting place of many of Israel's political leaders and soldiers. The area is rich in symbols of Israeli nationalism.

The train heads north and east, passing through Kiryat Moshe, a Jewish area with a significant religious-nationalist community, over the stunning “bridge of strings”, designed by the Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava and resembling a giant harp soaring towards the sky.

Soon it travels through the traditional commercial heart of Jerusalem, Jaffa Road, lined with historic stone buildings strung with electric cables and plastered with political and religious posters. British soldiers once frequented shady bars and hotels along the road during the three decades of the British mandate era, following the first world war. Later the area fell into decay. Now closed to vehicles to accommodate the rail tracks, Jaffa Road has seen a revival, with cafe tables spilling over the pedestrianised thoroughfare and global brand outlets opening next to tiny older shops selling yarmulkes, cheap suitcases and falafel.
The route taken by the Jerusalem light rail Jerusalem's light rail connects many neighbourhoods whose residents would not normally mix. Image: the Guardian

Past Jerusalem's vibrant shuk (food market) and city hall, the train rounds a corner, where it meets the walls of the Old City, scraping by buildings still bearing battle scars from 1948 and 1967. The next stop is Damascus Gate, the 16th-century entrance to the Old City and the grandest of the seven open gates to the narrow winding alleyways and religious sites of one of the most extraordinary square miles in the world.

For a long stretch, the train now follows the green line, drawn at the end of the 1948 war over Israel's declaration of a state, dividing what had been Palestine into two: the modern state of Israel, and the West Bank and East Jerusalem, which was governed by Jordan until 1967 (Gaza was governed by Egypt). For almost 20 years, Jerusalem was bisected into the Jewish west and Arab east, with a border marked by barbed wire, patrolled by soldiers and punctuated by watchtowers.

The green line, now invisible on the ground, remains a key factor for hapless peace negotiators, whose latest efforts have just reached yet another impasse. This section of the light rail's route sits on what may in the future be a border between two states.

The train skirts the main Jewish ultra-orthodox enclaves of the city, where stones are thrown at cars breaking the sabbath prohibition and women are instructed to wear modest dress (“closed blouse, with long sleeves, long skirt – no trousers, no tight-fitting clothes,” according to the text of wall posters), and up to French Hill, the site of the first post-1967 Jewish settlement across the green line and later, of numerous bus bombings carried out by Palestinian militants.

From there, it passes through two big Palestinian neighbourhoods, Shuafat and Beit Hanina – poorer, bleaker and vastly underserviced compared to most of West Jerusalem - before ending at Pisgat Ze'ev, a modern toy-town settlement on the north-eastern edge of the city, home to around 50,000 Jews.

According to Danny Seidemann, an Israeli lawyer who focuses on political issues concerning Jerusalem, the impact of the railway has been huge for Palestinians in the city. The planners were disinclined to route the railway through Shuafat and Beit Hanina, he says, for fear of deterring Israeli passengers and fuelling fears of terror attacks. “But were it only to go through 'Israeli' areas, they would be open to the charge that it was a racist railway. So it was routed this way with great reluctance.”

The unintended consequence has been to make it much easier for Palestinians to get to the Old City. “It's brought Haram al-Sharif [the site of the Dome of the Rock] closer to Beit Hanina and Shuafat,” says Seidemann.

And not just the Muslim holy sites, he adds; Palestinians are more visible in the west of the city than previously. “Has that united the city? No, but it's an interesting change in the patterns of movement.”

The reverse is not the case. “The light rail has not brought Israelis into Palestinian areas of East Jerusalem. On the Israeli side, the patterns of movement have not changed at all.”

Jerusalem's rightwing mayor, Nir Barkat, says the light rail is part of his vision to bring 10 million tourists to the city each year as well as improving transport for residents. “If you look at all the modern cities of the world, they all have effective public transportation systems. Everyone gains. This is for the benefit of all residents.”
A Jewish ultra-orthodox man stands by a light rail train sign in Jerusalem. A Jewish ultra-orthodox man stands by a light rail train sign in Jerusalem. Photograph: Sebastian Scheiner/AP

That statement sits uncomfortably with the fact that Palestinians, who make up 37% of the city's population, are deprived of this effective transport system on Saturdays, a normal working day for most of them, because the light rail does not operate on the Jewish sabbath. And it's unlikely their numbers are adequately reflected in the railway's workforce; the operator CityPass keeps no data on how many Palestinians are employed, although it says Arab train drivers and maintenance workers are among its workforce.

Barkat plans to add new routes to the light railway in the coming years: one from Gilo, a settlement in the south of the city, to Hebrew University in the north; and the second also from Gilo to Ramot, another settlement across the green line to the north. He says the aim is to connect “major neighbourhoods”, and estimates the two lines will between seven and 10 years to become operable.

But what happens if there is a peace agreement between Israel and the Palestinians that includes Jerusalem being divided into two capitals for each state?

According to Seidemann, “a permanent agreement on Israel-Palestine in general, and Jerusalem in particular, will be a divorce, not a marriage. That means there's going to be a binary border, and it's likely to be a physical border because one of the main motivations is separation and delineation.” The border will follow the green line, and the railway, he says, will simply have to be rerouted.

For Barkat, this is unthinkable. “There's not one example in the world of a split city that ever functioned, in the same way that you don't see people with two heads wandering around. It doesn't work, it will never work. Jerusalem is not negotiable. Simple.”

It's not an immediate prospect, however. Some say that, given the breakdown of peace negotiations, a return to violence in Jerusalem – and elsewhere – is a more likely scenario. If so, fears that the jewel in the city's transport crown could be a target for terrorism will resurface, and the limited signs of co-existence within the railway's carriages will vanish.

And encounters such as the one between the four provocative Palestinian lads and the gun-cradling Israeli could have an uglier outcome.
Further reading: Jerusalem's buses explained

Despite the opening of the light rail in August 2011, buses still dominate Jerusalem's public transport system. But unlike most cities, there are separate bus companies and routes servicing different sections of the population.

“Israeli” buses, run by the public transport company Egged, dominate the city centre and stretch out to Jerusalem suburbs, and beyond to other towns and cities in Israel. Their green-liveried vehicles also connect Jewish settlements across the green line to each other and to the centre.

A number of lines run across the concrete separation barrier and deep inside the West Bank to settlements that are far outside Jerusalem. White “Palestinian” buses connect Palestinian neighbourhoods with the Arab commercial centre in East Jerusalem and access points to Muslim holy sites in the Old City, and to the main West Bank cities of Ramallah, Bethlehem, Hebron, Nablus, Jericho and Jenin.
Greater Israel bus map Greater Israel bus map (detail). Photograph: Visualizing Palestine (full map here)

Indeed, there are two "central bus stations" in the city, one in west Jerusalem for Israeli buses, and one in east Jerusalem for Palestinian buses. There is no formal segregation: Israeli and Palestinian residents of the city can use the “other side's” bus system, although Jewish passengers are rare on Palestinian buses. But Palestinian drivers on Israeli buses are not uncommon.

Israeli buses were often targeted by Palestinian suicide bombers in the uprising that began in 2000. The last bus bombing in Jerusalem was in March 2011, in which a British woman died. A bomb exploded on a bus in Tel Aviv in November 2012, injuring 28 people.