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>Must - Try Restaurants in Jerusalem

1. Or equivalent other. $11 /day Continue. Viale enrico forlanini. Citta Studi and Lambrate are worth checking out during your time here. Head 2 miles from Segrate and you'll find yourself in.
2. Note that Sixt often comes up with Hotwire. My suggestion is to sign up with Hertz or another companies loyalty program for free and skip the line and walk right to your car. If you find a comparable rate, the time savings are worth a few dollars to me.

• >Must - Try Restaurants in Jerusalem

When thinking of Jerusalem, its holy sites and rich history immediately come to mind. Did you also consider the vibrant food scene bursting with delicious tastes and flavors? Due to Jerusalem’s mixture of cultures, restaurants have popped up all throughout the city ranging from cheap eats to fine dining. Follow our culinary journey as we break down the best places to try in Jerusalem so your next visit will be filled with unique dishes and experiences!

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Start at the shuk for high-end cuisine: Machneyuda

10 Beit Ya’akov

This meat-centric restaurant is the brain-child of friends Uri Navon, Assaf Granite, Yossi Elad. The vibe is modern with an open kitchen and interactive, funny bartenders pouring drinks and entertaining diners. The energy is high throughout the Machneyuda, with music turned up loud in a party- like atmosphere, full of dancing and singing. In addition to an exciting ambience, the food is top-par and there is a highly-recommended chef’s tasting menu which costs around 300 shekels. To secure a spot, make sure you reserve in advance since the restaurant is quite busy and table space becomes rare.

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For a quick lunch bite, hummus is a necessity: Hummus Ben Sira

3 Ben Sira

This restaurant’s name says it all - hummus is all you need to know and what must be ordered at Hummus Ben Sira. Enjoy their creamy, fresh hummus dishes inside or by taking in the views of Jerusalem while dining at their outdoor tables. A typical order includes two pitas, a large bowl of hummus, some raw vegetables (such as: onion, pickles and tomato) and three falafel patties. It is recommended to order mushrooms on top of the hummus for a true Ben Sira experience. Their pita is fluffy and tastes fresh out of the oven, which is vital in a Middle Eastern establishment. Since Ben Sira is extremely popular among locals and tourists alike, there may be a line but it is overwhelmingly decided that this restaurant is worth any wait!

If you want a scenic meal, head to: Rooftop

11 King Solomon St., Mamilla Hotel

Another restaurant that exemplifies it’s name, Rooftop is situated on top of the Mamilla Hotel, overlooking Jerusalem’s Old City as well parts of modern Jerusalem. Rooftop is known for both it’s spectacular view as well as for it’s delectable wine. A sommelier is on staff who can help you pair the perfect wine with your meal so all flavors of the food will be experienced. Rooftop is open for both lunch and dinner and features large portions of dishes such as: fish, meat, cheese and steak. Diners rave about the desserts, with special regards to the lemon curd pie. This restaurant is also certified Kosher and serves cold dishes on the Sabbath.

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Looking for a low-key night? Grab a drink at: BeerBazaar

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Rehov Ets Khayim 3, Mahane Yehuda

Located at the entrance of the Machane Yehuda market, BeerBazaar offers many beers both on tap and in bottles. The infusion of a bar plus a restaurant makes for a lively space with friendly service and an upbeat atmosphere. Although BeerBazaar is considered more of a place for drinks, their snacks are considered extremely tasty and it is worth trying the South African Biltong jerky. For a sweet craving, the chocolate brownie is served in individual pans. To try a sampling of the BeerBazaar’s best beers, order the the roulette which is their a low-cost beer flight.
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• So John Mackenzie had put his foot upon the road. This after he had reasone_t out as a mathematical problem, considering it as a matter of quantitie_lone. There was nothing in school-teaching at sixty dollars a month when me_ho had to carry a rubber stamp to sign their names to their checks wer_aking fortunes all around him in sheep.
• That was the way it looked to John Mackenzie the morning he set out for Poiso_reek to hunt up Tim Sullivan and strike him for a job. Against th_onventions of the country, he had struck out on foot. That also had bee_easoned out in a cool and calculative way. A sheepherder had no use for _orse, in the first place. Secondly and finally, the money a horse woul_epresent would buy at least twelve head of ewes. With questioning eyes upo_im when he left Jasper, and contemptuous eyes upon him when he met riders i_is dusty journey, John Mackenzie had pushed on, his pack on his back.
• There was not a book in that pack. John Mackenzie, schoolmaster, had been _ondslave of books in that country for four obscure, well-nigh profitles_ears, and he was done with them for a while. The less a sheepman knew abou_ooks, the more he was bound to know about sheep, for sheep would be th_bject and aim of his existence. Mackenzie knew plenty of sheepmen who neve_ad looked into any kind of a book but a bank-deposit book in their lives.
• That seemed to be education enough to carry them very nicely along, even t_oost them to the state legislature, and lift one of them to the United State_enate. So, what was the use of worrying along on a mission of enlightenmen_t sixty dollars a month?
• Mackenzie had not come into the West in a missionary spirit at the beginning.
• He had not believed the youth of that section to be in any greater depths o_gnorance than elsewhere in this more or less favored land. But from hi_arliest years he had entertained romantic notions, adventurous desires. Wit_is normal-school certificate in his breast pocket, tight trousers on hi_ather long legs, a short vest scarcely meeting them at the waistband, he ha_raveled into the West, seeking romance, alert for adventure.
• When he arrived at Jasper, which was only the inter-mountain West, and fa_rom the golden coast of his most fervid dreams, he found that adventure an_omance apparently had packed up and gone elsewhere years ahead of him. Ther_as nothing nearer either of them in Jasper than a tame gambling-joint in th_ack end of a saloon, where greasy, morose sheepherders came to stake quarter_n roulette and faro, where railroaders squandered away their wages, leavin_he grocerymen unpaid. And there was no romance for John Mackenzie in any suc_roceeding as that.
• Simple, you will see he was; open-faced and guileless as the day. Farm-bred, raw-boned, slow of speech, clear of eye, no vices, no habits that pulled a ma_own, unless a fondness for his briar-root pipe might be so classed. But i_he way Mackenzie smoked the pipe it was more in the nature of a sacrifice t_is gods of romance than even a mild dissipation.
• In the four years of his school-teaching at Jasper Mackenzie slowly grew ou_f his extreme rawness of appearance. His legs hardened from long rambles ove_he hills, his face browned like an outdoor man’s, his rustic appearance, hi_labber-days shyness, all slowly dissolved away. But the school board was no_ognizant of any physical or mental strengthening in him. He was worth sixt_ollars a month to that slow-thinking body when he came to Jasper; he wa_orth no more than sixty dollars when he threw up the job and left.
• Romance and adventure had called him away to the road at last, but the romanc_f sheep-riches, the adventure of following a flock over the sage-gray hills.
• Maybe he would find it too late even to glimpse them when he arrived in th_eart of the sheeplands; perhaps times had shifted since the heavy-jowle_lliterates whom he had met in Jasper began their careers with a few pounds o_ried apples and uncommon endurance for hardships in the open fields.
• Simple, they thought him down in Jasper, in the mild simplicity of a preache_r any man who would not fight. In their classification he was a neutra_orce, an emasculated, mild, harmless creature who held the child’s view o_ife from much association with children. He often had heard it said.
• A man never could advance to notability in a community that rated him a_ildly simple; he would have a hard time of it even to become notorious. Onl_ne man there had taken an interest in him as man to man, a flockmaster wh_ad come into that country twenty years before, a schoolteacher like himself.
• This man had kicked up the golden dust before Mackenzie’s eyes with his tale_f the romance of the range, the romance of sheep-riches, the quic_ultiplication of a band run on the increase-sharing plan. This man urge_ackenzie to join him, taking a band of sheep on shares. But his range was i_ight of Jasper; there was no romance on his hills. So Mackenzie struck ou_or the headwaters of Poison Creek, to find Tim Sullivan, notable man amon_he sheep-rich of his day.
• It was a five-days’ journey on foot, as he calculated it––nobody in tha_ountry ever had walked it, as far as he could learn––to Tim Sullivan’s ranc_n Poison Creek. Now, in the decline of the fifth day he had come to Poiso_reek, a loud, a rapid, and boisterous stream which a man could cross in tw_umps. It made a great amount of noise in its going over the boulders in it_ed, as a little water in a vast arid land probably was justified by it_mportance in doing. It was the first running water Mackenzie had met sinc_eaving the Big Wind, clear as if it came unpolluted by a hoof or a hand fro_ts mountain source.
• But somewhere along its course Tim Sullivan grazed and watered forty thousan_heep; and beyond him were others who grazed and watered many times tha_umber. Poison Creek might well enough merit its name from the slaver of man_locks, the schoolmaster thought, although he knew it came from pioneer days, and was as obscure as pioneer names usually are obscure.
• And some day he would be watering his thousands of sheep along its rushin_ein. That was John Mackenzie’s intent and purpose as he trudged the dust_iles of gray hills, with their furze of gray sage, and their gray twilight_hich fell with a melancholy silence as chilling as the breath of death. Fo_ohn Mackenzie was going into the sheeplands to become a master. He ha_etermined it all by mathematical rule.
• There was the experience to be gained first, and it was cheaper to do that a_nother man’s expense than his own. He knew how the right kind of a man coul_orm a partnership with a flockmaster sometimes; he had heard stories of suc_mall beginnings leading to large ownership and oily prosperity. Jasper ha_xamples of its own; he was familiar with them all.
• Some of them began as herders on the basis of half the increase from a state_umber of sheep not more than ten years past. Now they looked upon a sixty- dollars-a-month schoolteacher with the eyes of superiority, as money alway_espises brains which it is obliged to hire, probably because brains canno_evise any better method of finding the necessary calories than that o_etting themselves out by the month.
• Tim Sullivan needed herders; he had advertised for them in the Jasper paper.
• Besides, Tim had the name of a man who could see the possibilities in another.
• He had put more than one young fellow on the way of success in the twent_ears he had been running sheep on the Poison Creek range. But failing to lan_ partnership deal with Sullivan, Mackenzie was prepared to take a job runnin_heep by the month. Or, should he find all avenues to experience at anothe_an’s expense closed to him, he was ready to take the six hundred dollar_aved out of his years of book bondage and buy a little flock of his own.
• Somewhere in that wide expanse of government-owned land he would find wate_nd grazing, and there his prosperity would increase.
• Sheep had visited the creek lately at the point where Mackenzie firs_ncountered it, but there were no dusty flocks in sight billowing over th_ills. Tim Sullivan’s house was not to be seen any more than sheep, from th_ighest hill in the vicinity. It must be several miles ahead of him still, Mackenzie concluded, remembering that Poison Creek was long. Yet he hoped h_ight reach it by nightfall, for his feet were growing weary of the untrodde_ay they had borne him for a hundred and fifty miles, more or less.
• He pushed on, now and again crossing the broad trail left by bands of shee_ounting two or three thousand, feeling the lonesomeness of the unpeopled lan_oftened by these domestic signs. Sunset, and no sight of a house; nightfall, and not the gleam of a light to show him either herder’s camp or permanen_omicile of man.
• Mackenzie lingered beside the clamoring water in a little valley where th_ncropped grass was lush about his feet, considering making camp there for th_ight. It was a pleasant place for a land so bleak, even in summer, as tha_ountry of high table-lands and rolling gray hills. As he started to unslin_is pack he caught the dim note of somebody’s voice raised in song, and stoo_o, hand on the strap, listening.
• The voice was faint, broken by the distance, yet cheering because it was _oice. Mackenzie pressed up the hill, hoping to be able to thread the voic_ack to its source from that eminence. As he neared the top the voice cam_learer; as he paused to listen, it seemed quite close at hand. It was a woma_inging, and this was the manner of her song:
• > _Na-a-fer a-lo-o-one, na-a-fer a-lone, > He promise na-fer to leafe me, > Na-fer to leafe me a-lone!_
• The valley whence came the song was quite dark below him, and darker for th_ndefinite blotch of something that appeared to be trees. In that grove th_ouse that sheltered the melancholy singer must be hidden, so completel_hrouded that not even a gleam of light escaped to lead him to the door.
• Mackenzie stood listening. There was no other sound rising from tha_equestered homestead than the woman’s song, and this was as doleful as an_ound that ever issued from human lips.
• Over and over again the woman sang the three lines, a silence after the las_ong, tremulous note which reached to the traveler’s heart, more eloquent i_ts expression of poignant loneliness than the hopeless repetition of th_ong. He grinned dustily as he found himself wishing, in all seriousness, tha_omebody would take a day off and teach her the rest of the hymn.
• Mackenzie’s bones were weary of the road, hard as he tried to make himsel_elieve they were not, and that he was a tough man, ready to take and give a_t might come to him in the life of the sheeplands. In his heart he longed fo_ bed that night, and a cup of hot coffee to gladden his gizzard. Coffee h_ad not carried with him, much less a coffeepot; his load would be heav_nough without them, he rightly anticipated, before he reached Tim Sullivan’s.
• Nothing more cheering than water out of the holes by the way had passed hi_ips these five days.
• He could forgive the woman her song if she would supply some of the comfort_f those who luxuriated in houses for just this one night. He went on, comin_oon to barbed wire along the way, and presently to a gap in it that let hi_n among the trees which concealed the house.
• It was a small, low cabin, quite buried among the trees, no light showing a_ackenzie drew near, although the voice of the woman still rose in th_laintive monotony of her song.
• Mackenzie put as much noise into his arrival as was possible by walkin_eavily, knowing very well that a surprise by night is not a good beginnin_or a claim of hospitality. The woman must have heard, for her song ceased i_he middle of a word. At the corner of the house Mackenzie saw a dim ligh_alling through an open door, into which the shadow of the woman came.
• A little way from the door Mackenzie halted, hat in hand, giving the woma_ood evening. She stood within the threshold a few feet, the light of th_antern hanging in an angle of the wall over her, bending forward in the pos_f one who listened. She was wiping a plate, which she held before her breas_n the manner of a shield, stiffly in both hands. Her eyes were large and ful_f a frightened surprise, her pale yellow hair was hanging in slovenly abando_own her cheeks and over her ears.
• She was a tall woman, thin of frame, worn and sad, but with a faded comelines_f face, more intelligence apparent in it than is commonly shown b_candinavian women of the peasant class who share the labors and the loads o_heir men on the isolated homesteads of the Northwest. She stood so, leanin_nd staring, her mouth standing open as if the song had been frightened out s_uickly that it had no time to shut the door.
• “Good evening, madam,” said Mackenzie again.
• She came out of her paralysis of fright and surprise at the assuring sound o_is voice. He drew nearer, smiling to show his friendly intention, the lanter_ight on the close, flat curls of his fair hair, which lay damp on temples an_orehead.
• Tall after his kind was this traveler at her door, spare of flesh, hollow o_heeks, great of nose, a seriousness in his eyes which balanced well th_arvelous tenderness of his smile. Not a handsome man, but a man whose simpl_oodness shone in his features like a friendly lamp. The woman in the doo_dvanced a timid step; the color deepened in her pale and melancholy face.
• “I thought it was my man,” she said, her voice soft and slow, a labored effor_n it to speak without the harsh dialect so apparent in her song.
• “I am a traveler, Mackenzie is my name, on my way to Tim Sullivan’s shee_anch. My grub has run low; I’d like to get some supper if you can let me hav_ bite.”
• “There is not much for a gentleman to eat,” said she.
• “Anything at all,” Mackenzie returned, unslinging his pack, letting it dow_earily at his feet.
• “My man would not like it. You have heard of Swan Carlson?”
• “No; but I’ll pay for it; he’ll have no right to kick.”
• “You have come far if you have not heard of Swan Carlson. His name is on th_ind like a curse. Better you would go on, sir; my man would kill you if h_ound you in this house.”
• She moved a step to reach and lay the plate on a table close at hand. As sh_ifted her foot there was the sharp clink of metal, as of a dragging chain.
• Mackenzie had heard it before when she stepped nearer the door, and now h_ent to look into the shadow that fell over the floor from the flaring botto_f the lantern.
• “Madam,” said he, indignantly amazed by the barbarous thing he beheld, “doe_hat man keep you a prisoner here?”
• “Like a dog,” she said, nodding her untidy head, lifting her foot to show hi_he chain.
• It was a common trace-chain from plow harness; two of them, in fact, welde_ogether to give her length to go about her household work. She had a freedo_f not more than sixteen feet, one end of the chain welded about her ankle, the other set in a staple driven into a log of the wall. She had wrapped th_inks with cloths to save her flesh, but for all of that protection she walke_altingly, as if the limb were sore.
• “I never heard of such inhuman treatment!” Mackenzie declared, hot to the bon_n his burning resentment of this barbarity. “How long has he kept you tied u_his way?”
• “Three years now,” said she, with a weary sigh.
• “It’s going to stop, right here. What did you let him treat you this way for?
• Why didn’t some of your neighbors take a hand in it?”
• “Nobody comes,” she sighed, shaking her head sadly. “The name of Swan Carlso_s a curse on the wind. Nobody passes; we are far from any road that me_ravel; your face is the first I have seen since Swan put the chain on me lik_ wolf.”
• “Where does he keep his tools?”
• “Maybe in the barn––I do not know. Only there never is anything left in m_each. Will you set me free, kind stranger?”
• “If I can find anything to cut that chain. Let me have the lantern.”
• The woman hesitated, her eyes grown great with fright.
• “My man, he is the one who choked two sheepherders with his hands. You mus_ave read in the paper–––”
• “Maybe it was before my time. Give me down the lantern.”
• Swan Carlson appeared to be a man who got along with very few tools. Mackenzi_ould not find a cold-chisel among the few broken and rusted odds and ends i_he barn, although there was an anvil, such as every rancher in that countr_ad, fastened to a stump in the yard, a hammer rusting beside it on the block.
• As Mackenzie stood considering what could be done with the material at hand, the woman called to him from the door, her voice vibrant with anxiou_xcitement:
• “My man will come soon,” she said.
• Mackenzie started back to the house, hammer in hand, thinking that he migh_reak the chain near her foot and give her liberty, at least. A pile of log_ay in the dooryard, an ax hacked into the end of one. With this tool added t_he hammer, he hurried to the prisoner.
• “I think we can make it now,” he said.
• The poor creature was panting as if the hand of her man hung over her i_hreat of throttling out her life as he had smothered the sheepherders in th_ragedy that gave him his evil fame. Mackenzie urged her to a chair, givin_er the lantern to hold and, with the edge of the ax set against a link of he_hain, the poll on the floor, he began hammering the soft metal against th_it.
• Once she put her hand on his shoulder, her breath caught in a shar_xclamation of alarm.
• “I thought it was Swan’s step!” she whispered. “Listen––do you hear?”
• “There’s nobody,” he assured her, turning his head to listen, the sweat on hi_ean cheek glistening in the light.
• “It is my fear that he will come too soon. Strike fast, good young man, strik_ast!”
• If Swan Carlson had been within half a mile he would have split the wind t_ind out the cause of such a clanging in his shunned and proscribed house, an_hat he did not appear before the chain was severed was evidence that he wa_owhere near at hand. When the cut links fell to the floor Mrs. Carlson stoo_he lantern down with gentle deliberation, as if preparing to enter th_hamber of someone in a desperate sickness to whom had come a blessed respit_f sleep. Then she stood, her lips apart, her breath suspended, lifting he_reed foot with a joyous relief in its lightness.
• Mackenzie remained on his knees at her feet, looking up strangely into he_ace. Suddenly she bent over him, clasped his forehead between her hands, kissed his brow as if he were her son. A great hot tear splashed down upon hi_heek as she rose again, a sob in her throat that ended in a little, moanin_ry. She tossed her long arms like an eagle set free from a cramping cage, he_ead thrown back, her streaming hair far down her shoulders. There was a_ppealing grace in her tall, spare body, a strange, awakening beauty in he_aggard face.
• “God sent you,” she said. “May He keep His hand over you wherever you go.”
• Mackenzie got to his feet; she picked up the ax and leaned it against th_able close to her hand.
• “I will give you eggs, you can cook them at a fire,” she said, “and bread _ill give you, but butter I cannot give. That I have not tasted since I cam_o this land, four years ago, a bride.”
• She moved about to get the food, walking with awkwardness on the foot that ha_ragged the chain so long, laughing a little at her efforts to regain a norma_alance.
• “Soon it will pass away, and I will walk like a lady, as I once knew how.”
• “But I don’t want to cook at a fire,” Mackenzie protested; “I want you to mak_e some coffee and fry me some eggs, and then we’ll see about things.”
• She came close to him, her great gray eyes seeming to draw him until he gaze_nto her soul.
• “No; you must go,” she said. “It will be better when Swan comes that nobod_hall be here but me.”
• “But you! Why, you poor thing, he’ll put that chain on you again, knock yo_own, for all I know, and fasten you up like a beast. I’m not going; I’ll sta_ight here till he comes.”
• “No,” shaking her head in sad earnestness, “better it will be for all that _hall be here alone when he comes.”
• “Alone!” said he, impatiently; “what can you do alone?”
• “When he comes,” said she, drawing a great breath, shaking her hair back fro_er face, her deep grave eyes holding him again in their earnest appeal, “the_ will stand by the door and kill him with the ax!”