Muhammad

Muhammad's pizza place is one of my favorite places in Jerusalem for so many nostalgic reasons. My dad used to visit Mohammad in the 70s, when the Damascus gate was still new to an Israeli Jerusalem. Mohammad then lived in East Jerusalem, but he has since moved into the Old City because of the pain of check points and such securities. My dad remembers his friendship with Mohammad and his family with a lot of pride and fondness; rightly so, as it was (is) uncommon for lasting relationships to form between people of such different backgrounds. 30 years later, Mohammad still remembers my dad every time he returns to visit the tiny pizza place tucked away in an alley. And now, Mohammad knows me too.

The Green Door Pizza Bakery is a just a tiny room with a giant oven. This facility serves as the common oven for anyone in the area who doesn't have an oven of their own. Often, while sitting inside the wallpapered walls, I'll see a young Arab boy enter with a chicken, or potatoes, or whatever, for Mohammed to cook. He'll return later to collect the food. Mohammad's therefore serves as a communal meeting place, with people rushing in and out with food or just popping in to say hi. 

Mohammad's is not sanitary by any standards, not that it matters. Mohammed stands inside a pit smoking cigarettes and letting the ashes fall directly into the food. His hands are charred black from the oven, but he will never wash them before spending hours kneading dough in the back room. The back room is also covered in sawdust and nails, because it also serves as a storage closet.

Mohammed himself is going on 70 years old now. He made this business for himself for over 50 years now. Beside from the cooking services, he also makes pizza. The pizza is classically Arab: tomato paste, laughing cow cheese, and egg yolk all get piled into a dough that is then is cooked in the oven. It's surprisingly tasty.

But you don't go to Mohammed's for the pizza. You go for his unenthusiastic "ahalan" even when you know he's so happy you remembered to visit. You go for the little boy who runs in and gives Mohammed a glass of tea. You go for the bad Arabic music videos being played in the background. And you go because this is authentic, a real person who has made his life standing in a fire pit, Allhumdillah. 

Far away from, and yet so close to, the stillness of the Jewish quarter I know so well, Mohammed spends hours upon hours standing next to his oven, smoking his cigarettes, and just being. I feel comforted knowing that every time I go back, he'll still be standing there.