Once upon a time in Jerusalem,
And this time – a rugged Jerusalem winter and iconic oil furnaces.
Back in the days of the British Mandate, before the refinery era in Haifa, oil found its way to the land of Israel through a pipeline stretching about 1,000 km from the city of Kirkuk in Iraq, all the way to the bustling port of Haifa.
The completion of the pipeline took place in 1934.
In 1933, the British Mandate authorities greenlit the establishment of refineries in Haifa, allocating a sprawling 400-dunam site adjacent to the port.
Following the UN’s partition decision on November 29, 1947, Arab truck drivers went on a three-day strike in line with the directive of the Arab Higher Committee.
Tragedy struck on December 30, as 39 Jews fell victim to an organized massacre at the Haifa refineries.
The supply chain of fuel and oil was disrupted for buses, factories, and automobiles.
Beneath the surface and away from the watchful eyes of the authorities, a clandestine fuel trade market flourished.
The fuel journey to Jerusalem commenced via a train from Lod. However, due to vehement opposition from the Arab residents against the train and its supply, fuel and oil were then transported to the city in secured convoys, fortified vehicles, and hefty trucks, all geared towards preventing any harm to the fuel tanks and averting their ignition.
Fuel prices saw a significant surge, leading to the imposition of rationing.
Scheduled power outages became the norm, and for months on end, the city’s electricity supply was restricted to a mere two hours per day.
Post the state’s inception and the conclusion of the War of Independence, a Zionist fuel industry began taking shape on Israeli soil, and Haifa integrated into the national power grid, fortifying its fuel supply.
In the kitchens of yesteryear, a cutting-edge invention took the culinary stage – the primus, a petroleum stove powered by pressure, producing a more substantial flame than the oil-soaked wicks of kerosene lamps used until then.
It was an era when Jerusalem braved a harsh winter, with houses warmed by oil stoves, particularly those from the Friedman company – small, curved stoves on wheels, equipped with a rear oil tank filled by barrels carried by petroleum distributors traversing neighborhoods in carts drawn by horses.
The responsible adults would ignite the stove outside the house, either in the stairwell or in the open air, adorned in the epitome of Jerusalem’s fashion of those times – an olive-green duffle coat and a wool hat for defense against the biting cold. After all, the stench and smoke from the burning oil were truly intolerable.
Once the coils were properly heated, glowing red, the stove would be ceremoniously ushered into the living room, serving as an alternative to the television or the aquarium of that era. It was the tribal campfire.
With the arrival of the blazing stove into the house, the heavy aroma of oil permeated the air, causing headaches for all inhabitants of the space. Every door and window were sealed tight, given the piercing cold prevailing outside, and the icy walls transmitted the chill to the interior of the house, while family members breathe fuel fumes all winter long.
In some homes, orange peels were strategically scattered on the grille to mitigate the smell of oil.
The more forward-thinking souls would place a pot of water to introduce some moisture into the air, taking a step forward in their generation with the advent of the inhalation device.
The Mahadrin would put chestnuts on the hot surface.
The clinking sounds of burners on the top surface created an atmosphere of warmth in the house, an environment that an outsider would fail to comprehend.
Whole families would huddle together, with youngsters sporting magnificent jumpsuits that would put even the finest goalkeepers in the world to shame, noted as a curious baby would crawl toward the burning stove, eager to explore the red and glowing circle.
The stoves, however, failed to heat the entire expanse of the house, leading to scenes of people asleep, with sweaters, gatkess and three colorful woolen blankets, painted in psychedelic hues – a common tableau of that era.
The melding of the scent of fuel and the vibrant colors of those thick blankets became the trademarks and vestiges of that bygone era. To this day, the fragrance of an oil stove instantly catapults one’s memory back to the days of yore, to Sabbath gatherings at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and to the sounds of the stove rolling on four iron wheels, with children warming their blue hands above the red coil.
Today, homes are constructed with inverter air conditioners, underfloor heating, and double windows that shield the house from the penetrating Jerusalem cold – all for a new generation of youngsters who remain blissfully unaware of what true cold feels like.
Wishing all a healthy winter and B’sorot Tovot.
Shabbat Shalom to the far and near from Jerusalem.
