I still remember Abu Michael’s brazier, its shiny brass gleaming on the wooden floor in the living room. During the cold days in winter, particularly in December and January, known in Arabic as “Kawaneen” (the plural of Kanoun, which also means brazier in Arabic), we, his grandchildren, would gather around it. We’d sit cross-legged, forming a close-knit circle around its warmth. The brazier served not only as a heater but also a stove for Um Michael to boil water for coffee and tea. This process seemed to take forever, but Abu Michael’s stories had never made us feel bored while waiting. Dipping bread in olive oil and thyme (zeit wa za’atar) and enjoying the apricot jam that Um Michael would bring on a wooden tray added to the pleasure, infusing our gatherings with a special sense of joy.
Abu Michael holding the blog’s author on her first birthday, 1965
Beside the brazier on the floor, there was a plastic tray with three or four boxes of “premium” local cigarettes. It was customary for the host to offer cigarettes to guests with their coffee, even if they were not smokers. Whenever someone knocked on the door unexpectedly, as was common in those days, Abu Michael would call out loudly to Um Michael, discreetly asking her about the cigarette (Tütün) tray.
Abu Michael’s house, overlooking the Dome of the Church of the “Resurrection” in the Old City of Jerusalem, Summer 2018
Tütün is the Turkish word for tobacco. Abu Michael spent his early years and youth under Ottoman rule, a time that came to an end as Palestine fell into the grasp of the followers of British Mr. Balfour.
After Abu Michael was “afflicted” and displaced from his home in the Katamon neighborhood of western Jerusalem in 1948, he and his ten children relocated to the eastern part of the city. This area was under Jordanian administration until it was occupied in 1967, a year known as the “setback” or “Al-Naksa”. Following this “Year of Thunder”, as I call it in my stories, Abu Michael spent the final chapter of his life under Israeli occupation before passing away in the mid-1970s.
The author on her first birthday in the arms of her grandmother, Um Michael, 1965
Despite the Nakba, the Naksa, and the setbacks in between, Abu Michael remained in good health. His memory also was not affected by the historical turning points he witnessed in the region. He would wake up at dawn, get dressed, have his coffee with Um Michael, place his red “Tarboush” on his head, grab his wooden stick, and head to his café in Bab Al-Khalil (Jaffa Gate) at 8:00 sharp in the morning. The café was known as the “Mukhtar’s Café”, though some of Jerusalem’s writers, poets, and intellectuals called it “Al-Sa’alik Café”, a term used to describe the “Outlaws” in Arabic.
Mukhtar’s Café was founded in 1918, the year World War I ended. It was established by Abu Michael, Issa bin Michael al-Tubbeh, to serve as his administrative headquarters after the latter had been elected “Mukhtar” of the Greek Orthodox community in Jerusalem. Before 1948, Abu Michael made his daily journey from his home in Katamon, now part of West Jerusalem, to his café located in the eastern part of the city. Originally, the café served as a recreation address for Orthodox pilgrims coming from Russia, Cyprus, and Greece to celebrate Easter in the Old City of Jerusalem. Over time, it also became a center for those needing to issue official documents from the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, such as birth, marriage, or baptism certificates.
The Mukhtar Café/ Jaffa Gate
The chairs and tables in Mukhtar’s Cafe were wooden, old, and worn with time. The walls were grey blended with the color of the floor tiles. Across from the main entrance, a gate led to a backyard garden, where nargilehs (hookahs) were scattered among several tables and chairs. In the center of the garden, there was a Levantine-style fountain, attracting a parade of cats that prowled in search of their “livelihoods” – scraps of food. They knew Abu Michael was generous with them and always waited for a piece of “Siniora mortadella” or a slice of delectable Nabulsi cheese from him.
When reminiscing about the “Mukhtar’s Café”, one remembers the neighboring Greek restaurant “Costa.” Costa, a well-known Greek chef in the old city was famous for his stuffed pigeon, a dish he perfected like no one else. My parents and I would often go for lunch there on Sundays at noon. Despite his busy schedule, Costa would always come out of his kitchen sweating to greet the attendees in his restaurant. He personally wanted always to make sure that everyone there was happy and satisfied. After warmly welcoming everybody with “Sakhtain”, (Bon Appétit) in his broken Arabic – he would then return to his kitchen, where he continued to craft his culinary masterpiece.
Published on February 25, 2021
