The Morning the Market Fell Silent
I arrived in Jaffa to the kind of morning that makes you believe in the sea again - flat water, soft light, boats rocking lazily in their slips. The harbor looked wide awake: engines humming, ropes creaking, a white seagull posing proudly on a metal frame as if it owned the place.
A captain on his quiet deck, eyes on the water, holding decades of tides in his gaze
Following the smell of salt and diesel, I wandered toward the fish market, expecting the usual chaos - calls over the noise, knives flashing, slippery floors. Instead, I was met by silence.
Locked doors and rusted handles hint at busier mornings and stories that once flowed through here
The stalls were shuttered. Rusted locks clung to peeling blue doors, like they’d been there longer than the fishermen themselves. Abandoned nets sat quietly in large bowls, little silver fish caught in a tangle of plastic threads, waiting for a market that never opened.
Fish, ice, and nylon threads - today’s catch resting in a web of lines that never sleeps
Only three cats sat on the steps, perfectly spaced, as if someone had posed them for me. They watched me with the calm impatience of regulars whose favorite café is late. A religious couple walked down the stone stairs under the “Welcome to Old Jaffa” sign, dressed for somewhere else entirely, passing through a market that existed mostly in memory.
Three cats on the steps, the unofficial keepers of the market, patiently waiting for scraps and stories
At the edge of Old Jaffa, people come and go - but the sea, and those who work it, remain
Just as I was about to give up, I heard voices from the shadows of one open stall. A few fishermen were working in the half-light - hands deep in nets, knives sliding along scales. One young man grinned and held a fish out to the camera, proud of a trade that might be fading but is still very much alive for him. Another stretched out a handful of enormous shrimp, proof that the sea still gives.
“We’re still here,” he says, offering prawns like a bouquet from the deep
In the empty market, one young seller proudly holds out proof that the sea is still generous
We talked about early mornings, storms, and how hard it is to keep a small boat going these days. They were happy to talk for a few minutes, then shrugged, smiled, and went back to work.
Silhouettes move in the shadows, lining up fish on ice as the harbor glows just beyond
Walking away, I realized the market isn’t really closed. It’s just quieter now, held together by a few stubborn boats, some hopeful cats, and the people who still get up before sunrise to meet the sea.
