The Reader Center is one way we in the newsroom are trying to connect with you, by highlighting your perspectives and experiences and offering insight into how we work.
Daoud Hanania was born in West Jerusalem in 1934, the grandchild of an Arab Greek Orthodox priest. But his family left Jerusalem in 1951, in the aftermath of the 1948 Arab-Israeli war.
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Jerusalem,” he wrote to The New York Times last week.
Mr. Hanania’s story is one of almost 600 we received from readers last week, after we asked you to tell us about your personal experiences with Jerusalem, either as residents, visitors or refugees. In the wake of President Trump’s announcement that the United States now formally recognizes Jerusalem as the capital of Israel, we wanted to hear from you.
Here are some of the most evocative responses, condensed and edited for clarity.
“My earliest memory is of soldiers knocking on our door”
Louly Hanania, 75, lives in Amman, Jordan. She was born in West Jerusalem in 1942 and lived there until she was 6.
Continue reading the main storyMy earliest memory is of soldiers knocking on our door. From under my bed where my mother hid me, I could see their boots and long rifles through frightened tears. They forced us to leave at gunpoint.
We fled to Damascus where my mother’s family sheltered us, expecting that we would be back in a few days or a week at most. It has been over 70 years now, and I still long to see my beloved hometown in peace.
“We could not enter the Old City”
Susan H. Sachs, 75, lives in Beit Shemesh, Israel, and has been a resident of Israel since 1987.
In July 1962 I arrived in Israel for the Junior Year Abroad program at Hebrew University of Jerusalem. We could not enter the Old City, with its Jewish Quarter, nor dozens of synagogues that had flourished there before the Jordanian conquest nor the Western Wall, the Kotel.
We wondered why President Kennedy, who had expressed such anguish at the divided city of Berlin, did not come to the Mandelbaum Gate crossing into the Old City of Jerusalem that was closed to all Jews at all times. We also could not attend classes at the original site of Hebrew University on Mt. Scopus, and similarly Hadassah Hospital on Mt. Scopus was inaccessible.
A wish to pray there came true
Dedi Firestone, 69, lives in West Hempstead, N.Y.
The first time I visited Jerusalem was in 1966, when I was 18. I’ll never forget meeting my mother’s first cousin, who proudly showed off the city’s first American-style supermarket, which is still located on the same corner.
He identified buildings that bore bullet holes from the War of Independence, in which he fought; took me on roads “that King David had walked,” and stood me on a ridge to identify the Allenby Bridge that marked the border with Jordan. From that hill he pointed out exactly where to look for the “Wailing Wall” — and expressed such regret that he could not go there.
Sadly, he is no longer living, but I never return to Jerusalem without remembering that first magical visit, and thinking of him. While his wish to pray at the site of the ancient Jewish Temple did come true just a year later, I think he would be sad that peace has still not come to his beloved Jerusalem, but perhaps satisfied that it is still the center of the Jewish universe.
“Jerusalem is only beautiful in the abstract”
Tina Silverman, 68, lives in Mt. Rainier, Md.
I am an Israeli, and I lived and worked in Jerusalem for a decade. Meaningful moments? I witnessed a mother bury her daughter’s foot, the only part of her body that survived a horrific bus bomb.
Waited for phone calls from my kids, praying to a heartless god that they were safe every violent day. Bombs in Tel Aviv, bombs in Gaza, bombs killing friends and enemies, sadly the only kind of equality that exists in that tortured city.
NO piece of real estate is worth the endless war and pain. Jerusalem is only beautiful in the abstract.
“I would prefer to separate religion from state”
Debby, 66, a dual citizen of the U.S. and Israel who moved to Israel 27 years ago and now lives in Jerusalem.
It has historical significance to me, as a Jew, but not so much that I wouldn’t be willing to share it with other people to whom it also has historical significance. But to point to a holy book and use that as proof — it’s not proof of any kind that a city belongs to one people or another.
Religion should be kept out of it. I would prefer to separate religion from the state.
“I could see Jerusalem from the air, no borders dividing it”
Rami Kishek, 44, lives in Columbia, Md., and grew up in the West Bank.
As a Palestinian Christian who grew up in Ramallah, within view of the Holy City, Jerusalem is central to my life. I visited the city almost daily during my childhood and remember the Old City streets by heart.
It was painful in 2005, when I visited Palestine for two weeks but could not get a permit to visit, so was forced to stay behind the Wall. Flying back, I could see Jerusalem from the air, no borders dividing it.
“I can go, but my husband cannot”
Amahl Bishara, 41, lives in Lexington, Mass.
Jerusalem is a place that I can go, but my husband (and his family) cannot go. I am a Palestinian American and citizen of Israel, while they hold West Bank identity cards. So now, when I go to Jerusalem, I pick up ka’k, or sesame bread, for him, and halawi (a Middle Eastern sesame sweet) for his family.
But I can’t bring home a bag of the feeling one has turning the corner and seeing the thick stone walls of the Old City, with the magnificent golden Dome of the Rock shining above them. Nor can I bring home the feeling of driving by beautiful Palestinian houses from before 1948 that are now lived in primarily by Jewish Israelis.
“Jerusalem meant safety and a new life”
Orly Zilkha, 42, lives in Bozeman, Mont. He lived in Jerusalem in 1982 and ‘83.
Jerusalem meant safety and a new life for my father and his family, when they fled Iraq in the 1950s. They were escaping a society that had suddenly escalated from low-grade discrimination against Jews to active hatred and violence.
Her first memory is of putting on a gas mask
Zaina Awad, 29, grew up in East Jerusalem and now lives in Chicago.
Waiting hours to cross Kalandia checkpoint — with its rusted barbed wire, turnstiles, guns pointed my way — on my way to and from school. Waking up to the staticky, but comforting, sound of the Muslim call to prayer — the adhan — early in the morning.
Hiding under our dining room table as we watched an Israeli helicopter hovering just outside our family’s apartment window, spraying bullets into the crowds of rock-throwers below.
Breathing in the sweet smells of jasmine on warm, golden afternoons.
Knowing that my first real memory is that of my grandmother placing a gas mask over my face. Today, Jerusalem means so many things: Loss. Grief. Resilience. But, above all else — to me — Jerusalem means home.
“For me, Jerusalem was always marked by fear”
Alex Shams, 27, lives in Chicago, but for two years lived close to Jerusalem.
Continue reading the main storyFor me, Jerusalem was always marked by fear. It was the fear of the soldiers at the checkpoint as I crossed into Jerusalem, the fear of the soldiers on the bus who let their rifles hang casually from their shoulders as they checked our papers, the fear of walking through the Gate of the Old City only to face the stares of bored 18-year-old Israelis armed with machine guns.
I hated the city for a long time because every time I crossed from Bethlehem, even when my permits were in order, I could find myself hassled or bothered.