Hey everyone, welcome back to My Weird Prompts. I am Corn, and I am joined as always by my brother, the man who probably knows more about urban plumbing than any other resident of Jerusalem.
Herman Poppleberry, at your service. And Corn, while I appreciate the introduction, let us be clear: my interest is in the intersection of infrastructure and human well-being. It is not just about the pipes; it is about what flows through them and who has access to it. We are talking about the lifeblood of the city, quite literally.
Well, that is perfectly timed because our housemate Daniel sent us a prompt that gets right into that intersection. He was telling us about a pretty rough experience he had recently. He was out on a Saturday, a scorching hot Shabbat here in Jerusalem—this was back in August when we were hitting those record-breaking heatwaves—and he was trying to find a simple drink of water. But as anyone who lives here knows, on Shabbat, the shops are closed, the kiosks are shuttered, and if you do not have a reusable bottle that you filled at home, you are basically out of luck.
It is a genuine public health hazard, especially in a city with our climate. We are living in February of twenty twenty-six, and we are still looking back at a summer where we saw cases of severe dehydration and heatstroke that could have been prevented by the most basic of public utilities. Daniel’s experience is not an anomaly; it is a systemic failure of urban design.
Exactly. Daniel was asking why there are not more public water fountains in Jerusalem. He mentioned the sugar tax we used to have—which, for those who do not remember, was a huge political football that was eventually repealed in twenty twenty-three—and how that was such a divisive issue. It raises that big question: what is the job of the government? Is it to tax the bad stuff, like soda, or is it to provide the good stuff, like free water?
That is a fascinating way to frame it. If you are going to discourage people from drinking sugary beverages through a tax, the most logical and ethical counter-balance is to make the healthy alternative, water, as accessible as possible. When the government repealed the sugar tax, they argued it was to lower the cost of living. But if you are forced to buy a six-shekel bottle of water because there is no fountain, your cost of living has not actually gone down, has it? You are just paying a different kind of "thirst tax."
So, let us dig into this. Today we are looking at the economics, the public health impact, and the sheer logistics of public water stations. Herman, you have been looking into the data on this. Why is a city like Jerusalem, which is dense and frequently hits thirty-five or even forty degrees Celsius in the summer, so sparse when it comes to fountains?
It is a complex mix of historical legacy, modern economics, and a very specific Israeli mindset regarding water scarcity. But before we get into the modern problems, we have to acknowledge that Jerusalem actually has a very deep history of public water. If you walk through the Old City or even parts of the downtown area, you will see these beautiful stone structures called sabils.
Right, the Ottoman fountains. I see them all the time, especially near the Jaffa Gate and along the path to the Temple Mount. But most of them are dry now, right? They are basically just fancy trash cans or places for tourists to sit.
Sadly, yes. Most are just historical markers now. But historically, a sabil was a core part of Islamic urban planning. Rulers like Suleiman the Magnificent built them in the sixteenth century as acts of religious and civic charity. It was considered a hallmark of a beneficent ruler to provide free, clean water to travelers and residents. There are about seventeen of them just on the Temple Mount alone, and dozens more scattered throughout the city. Back then, providing water was not seen as a commercial transaction; it was a fundamental right and a spiritual duty. The Waqf and the Ottoman authorities saw the maintenance of these fountains as a primary responsibility.
So we actually moved backward in some ways. We went from a culture that saw free water as a sign of a great civilization to one where you have to pay ten shekels for a plastic bottle at a kiosk that is closed half the time anyway.
In many ways, yes. The commercialization of water in the twentieth century changed the landscape. The rise of the bottled water industry in the nineteen eighties and nineties essentially convinced us that water from a tap was "lesser" than water from a plastic bottle. But the tide is starting to turn again globally. We are seeing cities like Paris leading the way. Paris has over one thousand two hundred public water fountains. They have the famous Wallace fountains, which are these iconic green cast-iron structures, and they have even started installing fountains that dispense sparkling water to encourage people to stop buying bottled carbonated drinks.
One thousand two hundred for a city of about two million. That is a pretty high density. If we translate that to Jerusalem, which has a population of around one million now in twenty twenty-six, we should be seeing at least five hundred to six hundred fountains. But I can probably count the ones I know on two hands. There are a few in Sacher Park, maybe one or two near the First Station, and some in the newer parts of the Teddy Park area.
And that is the first part of the problem. Jerusalem has been focusing its fountain infrastructure almost exclusively in parks and leisure areas. The municipality recently finished a big upgrade at Ruppin Park and the Sacher Park expansion, and they included cold water fountains there. But as Daniel pointed out, if you are walking through a residential or commercial neighborhood like Rehavia, Geula, or Talpiot on a Saturday, those parks might be a thirty-minute walk away. In forty-degree heat, a thirty-minute walk for water is how you end up in the emergency room.
So let us talk about the "why" behind the lack of street-corner fountains. Is it just the cost? Daniel asked about the economics of this. What does it actually cost to put one of these in and keep it running? Because if it is just a few thousand shekels, it seems like a no-brainer.
The costs are higher than most people realize, which is often the excuse used by city planners. To install a modern, durable, refrigerated drinking fountain in an urban environment, you are looking at an initial investment of anywhere between five thousand and twelve thousand dollars per unit. That includes the unit itself—which has to be "vandal-proof"—the plumbing connections, the filtration system, and the electrical work if it is a chilled station.
Twelve thousand dollars sounds like a lot for a fountain, but in the context of a municipal budget that deals with billions of shekels, that seems like a rounding error. I mean, how much did we spend on those fancy light-up pavers in the city center?
Exactly. It is a matter of priority. But the "sticker shock" for politicians often comes from the maintenance, not the installation. You have to consider vandalism, which is a real issue in any dense city. You have to consider filtration changes every six months and the regular cleaning to prevent biofilm buildup. A typical estimate for maintaining a public fountain is about one hundred to one hundred fifty dollars per month. If you have five hundred fountains, you are looking at a yearly maintenance bill of nearly one million dollars.
Okay, but let us look at the other side of the ledger. What is the cost of not having them? We are talking about public health. If someone like Daniel gets heatstroke and ends up in the emergency room at Hadassah or Shaare Zedek, what does that cost the system? Because we are all paying for that through our health taxes.
This is where the math gets really interesting, and it is the argument that public health advocates are pushing. In Israel, the cost of a single emergency room visit can easily exceed one thousand five hundred shekels just for the initial intake and basic treatment. If that person requires hospitalization for severe dehydration or a heat-related cardiac event, you are looking at tens of thousands of shekels.
And that is just the direct medical cost. There is also the lost productivity, the strain on emergency services, and the long-term health impacts. We know that extreme heat events are becoming more frequent. In twenty twenty-five, we had three separate "red alert" heatwaves in Jerusalem.
Exactly. There was a study out of the United States in twenty twenty-three that estimated extreme heat costs the healthcare system about one billion dollars every single summer. If you scale that down to a city like Jerusalem, you are still talking about millions of shekels in preventable costs. If a million-dollar maintenance budget for fountains prevents even a few hundred hospitalizations, the system actually saves money. It is a classic case of preventative care being cheaper than reactive care. But the problem is that the "silo" of the municipal water budget is different from the "silo" of the national health budget. The city pays for the fountain, but the Ministry of Health saves the money. There is no mechanism to transfer those savings back to the city.
That is the classic bureaucratic trap. But we are in Israel, and we cannot talk about water without talking about scarcity. We are a country that basically invented modern desalination because we did not have enough water. Does the "water is precious" mindset play a role here? I remember those "Israel is drying up" commercials with the cracking skin from when we were kids.
Absolutely. There is a psychological barrier in Israel when it comes to "wasting" water. We grew up with the "save every drop" campaigns. For a long time, the idea of a fountain that might leak or where water is dispensed for free felt almost taboo in a desert climate. But that logic is actually flawed now. Thanks to our desalination plants—like the Sorek B plant which is now fully operational—we are no longer in a state of absolute water poverty. We actually produce a surplus of water in many months. The cost of the actual water used by a fountain is incredibly low.
How low are we talking? Give me the numbers, Herman.
If a fountain is used by one hundred people a day, and each person takes half a liter, they consume fifty liters of water. At current municipal rates for the Gihon water company, that is less than half a shekel of water per day. Even if the fountain runs a bit or has a small leak, the actual commodity cost of the water is the smallest part of the equation. The real costs are the infrastructure and the labor to maintain it. The "scarcity" argument is now more of a cultural ghost than a physical reality.
So if the water is cheap and the health benefits are high, what is the ideal density? Daniel asked if there is an equation for how many fountains we need per resident. Is there a "golden ratio" for hydration?
There is no single universal "golden ratio," but urban planners in "Blue Zone" cities often look at walking distance rather than just population. In a hot, dense city like Jerusalem, you want a water source within a three-to-five-minute walk of any point in high-traffic areas. That translates to roughly one fountain every two hundred to three hundred meters. In terms of population, some advocates suggest one fountain per one thousand residents. For Jerusalem, with a population of one million, that would mean one thousand fountains. Currently, we probably have less than a tenth of that. We are likely sitting at around eighty to one hundred functional public fountains across the entire municipal area.
One thousand fountains. Imagine that. You would never have to worry about carrying a heavy bottle or finding a store. It would change the way people interact with the city. It becomes a more "walkable" and "human" space. It reminds me of Rome. Have you seen those "Nasoni" fountains they have?
The "Big Noses!" Yes, Rome is the gold standard for this. They have over two thousand five hundred of these small, cast-iron fountains. They run constantly, which sounds wasteful, but the water actually goes back into the non-potable system for irrigation or into the sewers to help keep them clean and moving, which prevents smells in the heat. It is a brilliant piece of ancient engineering that still works today. Rome understands that water is a public service, not a luxury.
You know, I was thinking about the "Shabbat" aspect that Daniel mentioned. In Jerusalem, that is a unique variable. On a Tuesday, if you are thirsty, you can walk into a supermarket or a kiosk. On a Saturday, those private options disappear. In a way, the municipality has a heightened responsibility to provide for the public on days when the private sector is legally or culturally mandated to close.
That is a very sharp point, Corn. In a city where the "market" closes for twenty-five hours every week, the "state" has to fill the gap. It becomes a matter of equity. If you are a wealthy resident with a car and air conditioning, you are fine. But if you are a tourist, a secular resident out for a walk, or a religious person walking a long distance to a synagogue, the lack of a fountain on Shabbat isn't just an inconvenience; it is a failure of the city's duty of care. It actually disproportionately affects the most vulnerable—the elderly and children—who are more susceptible to heat.
So what are the other reasons? Daniel asked if there is anything else stopping this. Is it just the plumbing? Jerusalem is an old city. Is it hard to tap into the lines? I mean, I have seen the construction on the Light Rail. They are digging up everything anyway.
That is a genuine technical hurdle, but also a missed opportunity. In areas like the Old City or older neighborhoods like Mea Shearim and Nachlaot, the underground infrastructure is a labyrinth of ancient Ottoman pipes, British Mandate overlays, and modern Israeli additions. Tapping into a water line to install a new fountain can involve digging up stone streets that are hundreds of years old. The permitting process alone for that can take years because you have to involve the Antiquities Authority every time you move a rock.
But we manage to dig up those same streets for fiber optic cables and luxury apartment sewage lines.
Exactly. It is a matter of priority. If the city decided that "hydration density" is a key metric for urban success, they would include fountain installation in every road-widening or light-rail project. The problem is that water fountains are often seen as "nice to have" rather than "essential infrastructure." When the budget gets tight, the fountains are the first thing to be cut from the plan.
We also have to talk about the "smart fountain" trend. I have seen some of these in Tel Aviv and even a few in London where they have a bottle-filling station specifically, not just the little arc of water you have to put your mouth near.
The bottle-filling stations are a game-changer for two reasons. First, they are much more hygienic, which became a huge concern after the pandemic. People are often hesitant to put their face near a public nozzle. Second, they actively encourage the use of reusable bottles, which ties into the environmental goals of the city. Reducing plastic waste is another "hidden" economic benefit. Every liter of water taken from a fountain is a plastic bottle that doesn't have to be manufactured, transported, and eventually recycled or thrown into a landfill.
That is another second-order effect. If you look at the lifecycle cost of a plastic bottle of water—the oil to make the plastic, the fuel to truck it from the Galilee to Jerusalem, the energy to keep it cold in a shop—it is absurdly high compared to tap water. We are essentially subsidizing the plastic industry by not providing public taps.
Precisely. And in a city like Jerusalem, where we have a lot of wind and a sensitive mountain environment, reducing litter is a major plus for the municipality. The cost of picking up discarded plastic bottles in Sacher Park alone probably equals the maintenance cost of several fountains.
So, let us look at some practical takeaways. If someone is listening to this and they are feeling as frustrated as Daniel was on that hot Saturday, what can be done? Is this just a matter of complaining to the municipality?
It starts with data. There are actually apps now, like "Refill" or the "Maim" app here in Israel, where users can map out existing fountains and identify "water deserts." If we can show the municipality a map where entire neighborhoods like Kiryat HaYovel or Har Homa have zero access to water, it becomes a much harder problem for them to ignore. There is also a movement in Europe called "The Right to Water," which argues that access to drinking water should be a constitutionally protected right.
And there is also the "private-public" hybrid model. Some cities have programs where businesses agree to let people fill their water bottles for free, even if they aren't customers. They put a sticker in the window. I have seen a few of those in the German Colony.
That is a great interim solution. But again, in Jerusalem, those businesses are closed on Shabbat. So while it helps on a Tuesday, it doesn't solve Daniel's specific problem. For a city like ours, the solution has to be municipal and it has to be permanent. It has to be something that doesn't rely on a shopkeeper's permission.
I think there is also a role for architectural innovation here. We talked about the sabils earlier. Why not make new fountains that are also pieces of art? If you make them beautiful, people are more likely to respect them and less likely to vandalize them. They become landmarks. Like the lions in the fountains in the city center, but actually functional.
I love that idea. Imagine a "modern sabil" that uses solar power to chill the water and has a design that reflects the neighborhood's character—maybe Jerusalem stone in Rehavia, or more industrial metal in Talpiot. It turns a utility into a point of pride. We have seen this work with the "Cool Spaces" initiative in other Mediterranean cities like Athens and Barcelona, where they combine shade, misting stations, and drinking water into one architectural element.
It feels like we are at a tipping point. With global temperatures rising, these "heat events" that the research mentioned are going to become our "new normal." A city without a robust water network in twenty twenty-six is essentially a city that isn't prepared for the future. We are building all these new towers at the entrance to the city, but are we building the "liquid commons" to support the people living in them?
You are absolutely right. It is a climate adaptation strategy. We talk about sea walls and carbon capture, but sometimes the most effective climate adaptation is just making sure the guy walking down Jaffa Road doesn't pass out from heat exhaustion. It is about resilience at the human scale.
So, let us recap the economics for Daniel. The installation is about ten thousand dollars, the maintenance is a few hundred a month, but the "profit" comes from not spending thousands on hospital bills, not dealing with the environmental cost of plastic, and creating a city that is actually livable for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It is a massive net gain for society.
It is one of the highest returns on investment a city can make in terms of public health. If I were the Mayor of Jerusalem, I would set a goal: a fountain on every major street corner by twenty thirty. I would call it the "Suleiman Initiative" to honor the history of the city while looking at the future.
Well, until Herman gets elected, I guess we are stuck carrying our own two-liter bottles. But it is a conversation worth having. It gets to the heart of what a city is for. Is it a place where you are only welcome if you have a credit card to buy a drink, or is it a place that provides for your most basic human needs?
I think we know where we stand on that. Water should be the baseline. It is the most basic form of hospitality a city can offer.
Definitely. Well, this has been a really deep dive into something that seems so simple but is actually incredibly complex. Daniel, thanks for sending that in. It really made us look at our own city through a different lens. I am going to be looking at every dry sabil I pass today with a bit of a sigh.
It really did. And hey, if you are listening and you have a "weird prompt" of your own—maybe something you noticed in your own city or a question that popped into your head while you were stuck without water on a Saturday—we want to hear it. No topic is too small or too "plumbing-related" for us.
Absolutely. You can get in touch with us through the contact form at myweirdprompts.com. We love getting these ideas from you all. We have a whole backlog of prompts about urban design, strange laws, and the secret history of everyday objects.
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Yeah, it makes a huge difference. We appreciate all of you who have been with us for so many episodes. This has been My Weird Prompts. You can find us on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and at our website, myweirdprompts.com.
Stay hydrated out there, everyone. Carry a bottle, but keep demanding a fountain.
See you next time.
Goodbye.
