As autumn settles over Jerusalem, mornings on HaNasi HaShishi Street in the Mishkenot HaUma neighborhood begin with the quiet flutter of pigeons. They walk across the stone pavements, perch on the tiled roofs, and stubbornly search for every crumb and seed. In this city of stone and sky, they have become the season’s main performers.
Chilly air over Jerusalem’s high neighborhoods
This year, unlike previous autumns, the skies of Jerusalem are almost empty. The swallows and starlings that once filled the air have vanished, leaving pigeons to claim the open space. They drive away crows, eye the cats fearlessly, and remind everyone that the city’s rhythm has changed. Autumn feels colder in the high neighborhoods – in Ramot, Gilo, and Kiryat Yovel – where the rooftops catch the first pale light.
Evenings are quieter too. Windows close early, air conditioners fall silent, and warm blankets return to beds. On the slopes of Mount Herzl and Mount Zion, the city breathes slower, wrapped in its familiar chill.
Concrete replaces nature in Jerusalem’s autumn
Not long ago, walks on the city’s edge revealed white squills and lively wagtails – Jerusalem’s old messengers of the season. Today, the flowers have been replaced by cranes, and the birds by construction dust. The concrete has taken over the hills, and autumn’s poetry has faded. Yet something of its calm remains – a breath of cold air, a brief pause between festival and rain.
(Jerusalem skyline set to change – 1,000 new apartments)
In the ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods – prayers mark the season
But in the city’s ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods – Geula, Mea Shearim, and Makor Baruch – the idea of “autumn” hardly exists. There, the calendar is measured by prayers, not by leaves. Children won’t learn about falling leaves or migrating birds. When Simchat Torah and Shemini Atzeret arrive, the moment comes with a verse in the synagogue:
“You are mighty forever, O Lord… You cause the wind to blow and the rain to fall.”
That single prayer signals the shift of seasons. The “dew blessing” will wait for spring, but the wind has already begun to blow through the narrow streets.
And so, between pigeons on the sidewalks, empty skies, and the quiet breath of mountains, Jerusalem proves once again that autumn here is not just a season – it’s a state of mind. A delicate balance between stone and cloud, between memory and the first drop of rain. Even when nature fades, Jerusalem keeps singing its slow, ancient, and unmistakable song.
