The Museum of Natural History in Jerusalem’s German Colony neighborhood is a place familiar to any Jerusalemite kid who grew up in the city in the 1970s or ‘80s. Despite its name, there are almost no animals in the museum. It is a museum of stuffed animals preserved by taxidermy; wild animals, birds, and explanations of the human body. In keeping with the atmosphere of the nineteen eighties, the museum also has a room dedicated to the world of the dinosaurs and prehistoric man. 

The museum resides in a spacious villa which was built in the 19th century; visitors amble between its rooms and learn about the different (stuffed) animals. For many Jerusalemite children, the museum is remembered as a moving experience which invited a closer look at a lion’s face, almost touching a bear’s fur, or at least standing close to different kinds of birds and fowl without them flying away. In addition to the curiosity and excitement, the museum visit and the walk past dead animals staring with frozen eyes are accompanied by a certain fear and shrinking from those soulless animals. Though as we know, the animals are not animals at all, they are only the skin and shell of the animal. 

The Museum of Natural History is housed in one of the magnificent big buildings built in Jerusalem in the 19th century. On the sign at the museum’s entrance, the information about the building is summed up in a few lines: “Located in a 19th-century house built by the Armenian businessman Lazarus Margharian. Opened in 1962, the Nature Museum focuses on wildlife in the Land of Israel.” This is all of the information offered to the public about one of the most impressive buildings in Jerusalem, which kept its original form for over 150 years and for more than a decade served as the Ottoman governor’s house until 1917. The (Hebrew) Wikipedia entry for the museum notes that the place is called the Dakan Villa.

A visit does not leave room for doubt as to its richness and uniqueness. The villa spans two high-ceilinged floors, has a tiled roof, and dozens of rooms. There is a grand foyer on the first floor. The second floor is decorated with a three-arched facade supported by columns. Around the building, and particularly in front of it, stretches a spacious garden which includes a fountain, a fish pond, and dozens of fruit trees. The whole compound is surrounded by a stone wall, as was customary in the construction of large buildings in the Ottoman period. From the little information I was able to gather about the building, it seems that it was built in the 1860s, when the entire area was desolate and isolated. The decision to erect a villa such as this, far from any settlement, suggests the boldness of its founder, assuming that he would be able to protect his home from robbers and invaders. From this it is possible to learn about Margarian’s political and economic power. 

But apart from the scant information and a few assumptions about the nature of the building, we do not know much about the owner of the house or the architect who planned it and who was responsible for its construction. We do not know what considerations were made in building the house in abandoned land and if there were political or financial reasons for it. 

We also don’t really understand how the house of an Armenian businessman turns into the Ottoman governor’s house. Is it connected to the attitude of Ottomans towards Armenians at the beginning of the 20th century? Was the house bought? Maybe it was expropriated? Maybe Margarian had no heirs? A whole Jerusalem story stands silently in the heart of the city and so little is known about it. 

In the past decade, the Armenian villa or the Museum of Natural History, by its current name, attracts various social initiatives which include the cultivation of the community garden and the invitation of lecturers by residents for “Culture Saturdays”. The Jerusalem municipality has not remained indifferent and intends to transform the space into a music or teachers’ center. 

The instance in which a special, central building, with historical value, which was built in the Ottoman times and turned into a cultural center for the community, is a common phenomenon in dozens of cities around Israel. In the opinion of many, the conversion of such buildings into cultural or artistic complexes serves the purpose of protecting the building from demolition. In this perspective, the buildings are preserved and turned into a real estate project. On the other hand, turning historical buildings into public ones does not necessarily provide information on its history or that of the city.

Another example of a city with Ottoman buildings that have not found their place, or perhaps more to the point, Ottoman buildings for which the city does not find space, is Lod. The city of Lod was demolished almost to its foundations by Israel in 1956 and only several buildings from the Ottoman period remain standing. The most famous of which are: Khan el-Hilu, the Lod House of Arches, and the Hasuna family’s olive press — structures that are on the verge of collapsing and that mainly housed street waste. 

Khan el-Hilu is a central structure built around the 14th century, which served as a rest stop and trading point until the middle of the 20th century. During the Ottoman period, there were livestock markets and the sale of agricultural produce, and alongside the khan commercial buildings, workshops, and guard posts were built. The Khan likely had two floors, with most of the second floor now collapsed or demolished, apart from a section on the side of the building. The first floor is built of vaulted rooms surrounding a square courtyard. The Khan is located in the heart of the Ramat Eshkol neighborhood, which has a majority of Arab residents.

At the beginning of 2020, the Lod municipality began to develop the area around the Khan; a parking lot, bike lanes, and a new road were built in front of the entrance. To complete these projects, the level of the road was raised so that the Khan, which was once the central and most impressive building in the area, is hidden from view, half a level below the road, losing a centrality and pride of place.

As part of the city’s development and urban renewal plan, it was decided to authorize some of the buildings for the benefit of the public. For example, it was decided to convert the Khan into an arts and culture center and an additional building located nearby, the House of Arches, will also be preserved and serve as a cultural center. Across from Khan el-Hilo, a center for Jewish Thought will be erected, and north of the Khan will be a culture hall which will include an auditorium, activity spaces, a library, and more.

It seems that the city of Lod is facing significant change. Not just urban upheaval and the addition of thousands of housing units but also a cultural change. In addition to the planned culture hall, historical buildings such as the Khan and the House of Arches will be turned into cultural complexes. But, a moment before the artists of Israel move from Jaffa to Lod and the center of Israeli culture moves from the expensive Tel Aviv to the impoverished Lod, the question arises as to why the few remaining historical buildings in Lod are being converted into cultural complexes. Moreover, after these transformations, will there be signage for the public to explain the history of the places and their significance in the city’s history? As we have seen in Jerusalem, the public use of buildings from the Ottoman times has become common. Many cities preserve ancient buildings and convert them for the good of the community and due to space constraints, it would be impossible to name all of them. Starting with the Writers’ House in Beersheva to hotels in Akko that were built on the lands of Ottoman khans. It seems that Lod is joining this trend; turning historical structures into public and or cultural centers that ignore the history of the building and its role in the city’s history. In the case of Khan el-Hilo in Lod, the agricultural research that uncovered remains from the Mamluk period (14th century CE) and the Roman period (second-third century CE) are also ignored. The idea of establishing a center for Jewish Thought facing the Khan in the center of an Arab neighborhood indicates the nature of the thinking of the city officials and its planners. It is impossible to not to feel that someone is glossing over the erasure of the physical history with the term ‘culture’ or ‘center for arts and culture’. As we noted, the whole country is full of ancient and historical structures. The “lucky” ones among the historical buildings are used by the public and are in relatively good physical condition. It seems that too many historical buildings, many of them from the Ottoman period, are being converted into public buildings, thus almost entirely erasing the history of the place, its significance in the city, and what we can learn from them about us today. The sign at the Museum of Natural History accurately sums up the attitude towards the country’s glorious and hidden past: ‘A well-to-do house that now serves as a museum’. In this way, conservation recalls those stuffed animals at the nature museum: take out the soul and leave only the shell. The animals’ skin or feathers are the buildings’ walls. They, in themselves, are enough to excite the public.  We should remember that the Ottoman buildings offer us much more than lodgings for presenting exhibitions or children’s activities. They offer us an intriguing encounter, stimulate the imagination, and teach about the history of the place where we live. One can only hope that, unlike those animals made immortal by taxidermy, these buildings will be researched and preserved and presented as they, and everyone who cares about the history of the country deserve.

Translation from Hebrew: Zoe Jordan