Echoes of old Jerusalem: How 19th-century neighborhoods disappeared but never faded

Everybody is familiar with the concept of ghost towns. These are settlements that fulfilled their mission or suffered a catastrophe and were subsequently abandoned by the population. But what about ghost neighborhoods? Not in the traditional sense that the people disappeared or that buildings were left to fall into ruin, but in the sense that a purpose was lost, swallowed by something much bigger, and an identity was left only to memory.

Walk through the winding alleys of Nahlaot today, past the bustling cafés and gentrified apartments, and you are treading on the remnants of a dozen forgotten neighborhoods. What appears to the casual viewer as a single historic district was once a constellation of distinct communities, each with its own founders, environment, and dreams of life beyond the cramped quarters of the Old City.

These neighborhoods, with names like Even Yisrael, Mazkeret Moshe, and Batei Broide, represent one of the most remarkable urban transformations in Jerusalem’s modern history: the gradual absorption of pioneering 19th-century communities into the sprawling metropolis we know today.

To understand the significance of these vanished neighborhoods, one must first comprehend the claustrophobic reality of Jewish life within the Old City walls in the mid-19th century. By 1870, Jerusalem’s Jewish population had swelled to nearly 11,000 souls, the majority crammed into the narrow confines of the Jewish Quarter.

Families of six or eight shared single rooms in crumbling Ottoman-era buildings. Sanitation was primitive, disease rampant, and the very air seemed thick with centuries of accumulated suffering.

It was against this backdrop that a handful of visionaries began to imagine something unprecedented: Jewish neighborhoods outside the protective walls that had sheltered their people for centuries. The idea seemed almost blasphemous. The walls were psychological barriers as well as physical ones, representing security in a hostile world. However, the combination of overcrowding, disease, and a new generation of European Jewish philanthropists created the conditions for an urban revolution.

The transformation began modestly in 1860 with Mishkenot Sha’ananim, funded by a generous endowment from Sir Moses Montefiore. This was the beginning of a proliferation of neighborhoods in the following decades that would reshape Jerusalem’s landscape and lay the foundation for the modern city.

Even Yisrael holds the distinction of being the second Jewish neighborhood built outside the Old City walls, established in 1873 by a group of Ashkenazi families who had grown weary of the overcrowded conditions within. The name itself – “Stone of Israel” – reflected both the building material of choice and the religious significance these pioneers attached to their venture.

The original Even Yisrael consisted of 32 modest stone houses arranged around a central courtyard, following a pattern that would be repeated throughout Jerusalem’s expansion. Each family received a home, along with a small plot of land for vegetables and chickens, creating a hybrid between urban and rural life that appealed to immigrants still connected to the agricultural traditions of Eastern Europe.

What distinguished Even Yisrael from its predecessor, Mishkenot Sha’ananim, was its democratic nature. Rather than being the project of a single wealthy benefactor, it emerged from the collective efforts of middle-class families pooling their resources. This cooperative spirit would influence neighborhood development throughout Jerusalem for generations.

Today, Even Yisrael’s boundaries have been completely absorbed into the larger Nahlaot complex. The original courtyard still exists, though surrounded now by cafés and boutiques that cater to young professionals rather than the religious families who first called it home. Still, on quiet Friday afternoons, when Shabbat preparations begin, one can still sense the rhythms of life that have persisted for nearly 150 years.

Mazkeret Moshe (“Memorial to Moshe”) was conceived specifically for Ashkenazi Jews, many of whom had arrived from Eastern Europe with little more than their religious learning and a determination to live in the Holy Land. The neighborhood’s founders understood that these immigrants needed not just housing but economic opportunities, and they established workshops for traditional crafts alongside the residential buildings.

The layout of Mazkeret Moshe reflected this dual purpose. The central area contained the residential units – simple but dignified stone houses with high ceilings and small courtyards – while the periphery housed workshops for metalwork, carpentry, and textile production. This integration of living and working spaces created a self-sufficient community that could sustain itself economically while maintaining its religious character.

Ohel Moshe (“Moshe’s Tent”), established simultaneously, served a parallel function for Sephardi Jews, whose traditions and needs differed significantly from their Ashkenazi brethren. The Sephardi families who settled in Ohel Moshe brought with them the commercial networks and linguistic skills that connected Jerusalem to the broader Ottoman economy. Many became successful merchants, establishing trading relationships that extended from Damascus to Alexandria.

The architectural differences between the two neighborhoods reflected these cultural distinctions. While Mazkeret Moshe emphasized functionality and modesty, Ohel Moshe incorporated decorative elements that echoed Sephardi traditions – ornate ironwork, colorful tiles, and interior courtyards designed for the extended family gatherings that were central to Sephardi social life.

Both neighborhoods maintained their distinct identities for nearly a century, but the pressures of modern urban development gradually eroded the boundaries between them. Today, most residents of the area would struggle to identify where Mazkeret Moshe ends and Ohel Moshe begins, though careful observers can still detect the architectural and social traces of their different origins.

Not all of Jerusalem’s early neighborhoods emerged from grand philanthropic projects or organized community efforts. Some, like Batei Broide and Batei Rand, reflected the determination of working-class families to create better lives for themselves through collective action and mutual support.

Batei Broide (“Broide’s Homes”), established in 1887, was founded by a group of Galician Jewish families who had pooled their limited resources to purchase a small plot of land near the emerging market area. The neighborhood’s name honored Dov Broide, a local businessman who had facilitated the land purchase, but its character was shaped by the families who built it house by house, often with their own hands.

The original Batei Broide consisted of just 16 houses arranged around two small courtyards. Each one was modest – two or three rooms at most – but represented a dramatic improvement over the single-room accommodations most families had endured in the Old City. More importantly, each family owned their home outright, a radical concept for people who had lived for generations as tenants in someone else’s property.

Batei Rand, established two years later in 1889, reflected similar aspirations among Hungarian Jewish immigrants. The neighborhood was named after Rabbi Mendel Rand, a Hungarian religious leader who had encouraged his followers to settle in Jerusalem; but like Batei Broide, its development was driven by the practical needs of working families rather than religious ideology.

What distinguished these neighborhoods from their more famous neighbors was their integration into Jerusalem’s developing economy. While the residents of Mishkenot Sha’ananim and other philanthropic projects often struggled to find sustainable employment, the families of Batei Broide and Batei Rand, like Ohel Moshe, established themselves as craftsmen, small merchants, and service providers for the city’s growing population.

Today, these neighborhoods exist only as clusters of narrow alleys within the Nahlaot maze, their original boundaries long since obscured by subsequent development. But their legacy persists in the entrepreneurial spirit that still characterizes the area, where small businesses and family enterprises continue to thrive alongside trendy restaurants and art galleries.

Beit Ya’akov (“House of Jacob”), established in 1877, was one of the earliest neighborhoods in what would become the market area. Its founders chose the location precisely because it was removed from the main thoroughfares and commercial activity, seeking the quiet residential character that would allow families to raise children in a wholesome environment.

The irony is that Beit Ya’akov’s quiet streets eventually became the foundation for Jerusalem’s busiest market. As the city grew and the demand for fresh produce increased, the wide streets and central location that had initially attracted families seeking tranquility made the area ideal for commerce. By the early 20th century, the transition from residential to commercial use was well underway.

Mahaneh Yehuda itself began as a residential neighborhood in 1887, named after a biblical reference that reflected the founders’ hope for divine protection. The early residents were primarily middle-class families who built substantial stone houses with gardens and courtyards, creating a prosperous residential district that attracted professionals and merchants.

The transformation of Mahaneh Yehuda from a residential neighborhood to a market center occurred gradually over several decades. Individual families began selling produce from their front yards to supplement their income. Small shops opened on the ground floors of residential buildings. Eventually, entire streets were converted to commercial use, and the residential character of the original neighborhood disappeared almost entirely.

This process of commercial absorption was not unique to Jerusalem, but the speed and completeness of the transformation were remarkable. Within two generations, neighborhoods that had been planned as peaceful residential enclaves had become the commercial heart of the expanding city.

THE GRADUAL absorption of these early neighborhoods into larger districts is reflective of broader patterns of general urban development, but it also raises questions about identity, memory, and community preservation. Each of these neighborhoods was founded with specific purposes and served distinct populations. Their disappearance into larger organizational units represents both success in the growth of a thriving city, and loss in the erasure of particular histories and identities.

Some neighborhoods have maintained stronger traces of their original character than others. Mea She’arim (“100 Gates”), established in 1874, remains distinctly recognizable today, its ultra-Orthodox character and distinctive architecture setting it apart from surrounding areas. Neighboring Geula (“Redemption”), however, is another example of an area that has swallowed surrounding suburbs.

Originally just one small district, Geula has become so synonymous with haredi life that its name now blankets an entire cluster of neighborhoods.

Yet even Mea She’arim has been significantly altered by the expansion of haredi neighborhoods around it, changing its context if not its internal character.

Other neighborhoods, like the various courtyard communities that once dotted the Nahlaot area, have been so thoroughly integrated into modern Jerusalem that only historians and longtime residents remember their separate existence. Walking through areas like Zichron Tuvya or Sukkat Shalom today requires imagination to reconstruct the distinct communities that once flourished there.

Modern Jerusalem’s relationship with its absorbed neighborhoods resembles an archaeological tel, where successive layers of development have obscured but not entirely erased earlier periods. Street names provide one form of preservation: Mazkeret Moshe Street and Even Yisrael Street maintain the memory of their founding communities. Architectural details offer another – the distinctive stonework and courtyard layouts that characterize certain blocks still reflect the building patterns of the original neighborhoods.

More subtle traces appear in social patterns. The commercial networks established by the Sephardi families of Ohel Moshe continue to influence business relationships in the area; the cooperative traditions developed in working-class neighborhoods like Batei Broide persist in the community organizations and mutual aid societies that still operate in Nahlaot.

Religious institutions provide perhaps the strongest continuity. Many of the synagogues established in these early neighborhoods continue to serve their communities, though their congregations may now include families from throughout Jerusalem rather than just the immediate vicinity. The Or Zaruah Synagogue in Even Yisrael, the various Sephardi prayer houses that grew out of Ohel Moshe, and the Hungarian minyanim that originated in Batei Rand all maintain connections to their founding communities while adapting to changed circumstances.

Today’s Nahlaot district, which encompasses most of these absorbed neighborhoods, faces its own challenges of preservation and development. The area’s proximity to downtown Jerusalem and its historic character have made it attractive to young professionals, artists, and entrepreneurs, leading to significant gentrification pressures.

This contemporary transformation echoes in some ways the original absorption of the 19th-century neighborhoods. Just as economic and demographic pressures gradually erased the boundaries between Mazkeret Moshe and Ohel Moshe, similar forces today are reshaping the area’s social composition and character.

However, there are also efforts to preserve and celebrate the district’s layered history. Local historical societies work to document the stories of vanished neighborhoods, walking tours highlight the architectural and social remnants of different periods, and community organizations work to maintain the area’s residential character while accommodating economic development.

The story of Jerusalem’s absorbed neighborhoods ultimately reflects the dynamic nature of urban life, particularly in a city that has undergone such transformations over the past two centuries. The neighborhoods that were absorbed into larger districts succeeded in their primary mission of providing better living conditions for their residents and contributing to Jerusalem’s growth and prosperity.

Their legacy lies in the values and institutions they established, rather than lines on a map that may no longer delineate neighborhoods: the cooperative spirit of Even Yisrael, the economic integration achieved by Ohel Moshe, the working-class dignity exemplified by Batei Broide, and the market innovation that transformed Mahaneh Yehuda.

AS JERUSALEM continues to grow and change, the example of these absorbed neighborhoods offers both inspiration and warning. While it demonstrates the possibility of creating distinct, living communities within a larger network, it also shows how quickly individuality can be subsumed into the general, and how easily the specific stories of individual neighborhoods can be lost in the broader narrative of urban development. With Jerusalem seeming to have become one large construction site, developing generic, modern-day apartment blocks and gentrified areas, we are at risk of perhaps losing a little bit of our identity.

The challenge for contemporary Jerusalem lies in learning from this history, honoring the vision and sacrifice of the 19th-century pioneers while building a city that can accommodate the needs and aspirations of 21st-century residents. In the narrow alleys of Nahlaot, where the boundaries of more than a dozen neighborhoods have dissolved into memory, this challenge remains very much alive.