Teddy Kollek's car was indisposed this day and he had to pry himself out of his aide's Beetle by lifting his legs out with both hands, one at a time. His Arab hosts received him, however, as if he were alighting from the rear of a chauffeured limousine.
He had come to meet the mukhtars and notables representing close to 15,000 residents of Silwan, the sprawling village on the slope southeast of the Old City. It was a routine meeting, the kind Kollek held periodically with neighborhood groups on both sides of the city. Fifteen men awaited him in the living room of the mukhtar of Upper Silwan.
Everyone settled into upholstered chairs except for the mukhtar who remained on his feet to deliver a formal welcome in Arabic translated by a young Arab seated next to Kollek. It was just a few years after the Six Day War and fewer Arabs were fluent in Hebrew than would be the case later. On the 10-minute drive from City Hall, Kollek's aide had briefed him on the problems likely to be raised at the meeting and the solutions the municipality was offering.
The mukhtar spoke of an open drainage ditch whose runoff in winter was "strong enough to sweep away a camel, let alone a man." Kollek pulled out a large cigar and lit up. On the walls were framed inscriptions from the Koran and a color photograph of the Dome of the Rock. When the mukhtar had finished reading a list of requests, there was a break and two men distributed soft drinks.
A man in a brown business suit now took the floor. He begged pardon for exploiting Kollek's visit to complain about the neighborhood's problems but he was sure, he said, that the mayor had Silwan's interests at heart. The street lights on Mustafa Street, he said, had no bulbs and there was total darkness at night. The men serving as waiters returned with apples and bananas on individual plates.
The opening presentations over, Kollek responded. "Today, 20 American state governors came to see me," he began. The men in the room nodded appreciatively and one man said "Ahalan wa sahalan (welcome)." The governors, continued Kollek, had asked how he maintained contact with the Arab population and how he served their needs, given that there were no Arabs on the city council. "I told them that Arab municipal employees were an important channel." There were also regular contacts with the east Jerusalem chamber of commerce, he added, and with Arab businessmen who come to City Hall with their requests. Finally, Kollek said, there were meetings with neighborhood groups like this one which had kindly invited him.
"When I come to any neighborhood there are demands because the municipality is not rich and always does less than enough. I came here to learn what is pressing you. I can tell you ahead of time that we can't solve all your problems. Some of them you must solve yourself."
The mayor expressed satisfaction that the villagers would contribute land for a needed girls' school. The municipality, he said, preferred not to expropriate land. An earnest looking man in his 30s rose to thank the mayor for a new street built in his quarter. "But we're uneasy," he said. "Houses have been built without a permit and with growing families we have to build more."
Kollek took a puff and nodded as the translation came in. The problem of building permits was critical because there was no approved master plan for east Jerusalem on which to base such permits. Another resident asked for the extension of a road by 100 meters so garbage trucks could get in. Kollek's aide intervened. "There are 100 stretches like this of 100 meters. If we paved half of them there'd be no money left for sewers, lighting or water lines."
As coffee was served in porcelain cups, the aide outlined to the group what the municipality was planning to do in Silwan in the fiscal year ahead, including new sewer lines, roads and lighting.
Summing up, Kollek returned to the absence of Arabs on the city council. He cited objections recently made by right-wing councilmen to a new mosque proposed for the northern entrance to Jerusalem. They had complained that it was too large for the location and that it would give a "Moslem character" to the city at one of Jerusalem's main entrances. "There was no Arab on the council to say 'We have this coming to us jut like any synagogue or church'." Taking another puff, he said "Still, it was easier getting it through the council than it would have been getting a synagogue built in Damascus."
The remark got a good laugh. In the ensuing conversation, some of the men called him "mayor," some "Teddy."
It was dark outside when Kollek drove away. "The standard of living on the Jewish side may be higher," he said, "but the problems are the same."
WITH ISRAEL'S annexation of east Jerusalem three weeks after the Six Day War, it was apparent that relations with the city's Arabs was the measure by which Israel would be judged by the world and, for that matter, by itself. Both Israel and the Arab population were fortunate to have Kollek, a cosmopolite from Vienna, as their intermediary. He himself recognized early, however, that sensitive concern could only be an interim solution at best. "In the long run, paternalism can't work. The Arabs must do things for themselves and feel responsibility for the things being done."
Given the Arabs' refusal to field candidates for the city council, which would have meant acceptance of Israel's rule, Kollek and his deputy in charge of east Jerusalem, Meron Benvenisti, decided not to appoint "Uncle Mohammeds" who would sit on the city council in keffiyehs to provide window dressing. The two men themselves would act as surrogates for the Arab population.
When the government announced plans to hold a military parade through east Jerusalem on the first Independence Day after the Six Day War, Kollek protested that it would humiliate the Arabs by rubbing in their defeat. He managed to persuade the army to shorten the route through the Arab areas.
When he presented to the City Council a request from Arab residents to put up a memorial near Lion's Gate for their fallen in the Six Day War, there were vigorous protests at honoring enemy soldiers and warnings that the memorial would become a base for violent demonstrations. Kollek countered that the Arabs were entitled to mourn their war dead just as Israelis were. A memorial obelisk was duly raised and became a site in the coming years for decorous memorial services.
