Above the ancient stones of Jerusalem, a paraglider named Yosef Shahar has found a way to hold two worlds together at once — the sacred and the wild. Each summer, thousands of swifts descend on the Western Wall to nest in its crevices, and Shahar rises on thermals to watch over them, counting fledglings and documenting a fragile coexistence that most people never think to look for. His work asks a quiet but enduring question: when we speak of stewardship, do we mean only what is human, or everything that shares the space with us?
Israeli paraglider launches mission to protect migrating swifts nesting at Western Wall
To understand them, you have to meet them there.
Mark
Why a paraglider? Why not just climb the Wall or use binoculars from below?
Mimi
From the ground, you see the Wall as a wall. From the air, you see it as habitat. The swifts live at the level of the sky. To understand them, you have to meet them there.
Mark
Does the religious significance of the place complicate the work?
Mimi
At first, yes. But people who pray at the Wall understand stewardship. Once they see that protecting the birds honors the place rather than diminishes it, the resistance fades.
Mark
What happens to these swifts after they leave Jerusalem?
Mimi
They continue south, toward Africa. What we learn here about their needs—food sources, safe nesting sites, migration timing—helps us protect them along the entire route.
Mark
Is this scalable? Can other cities do this?
Mimi
The method is specific to Shahar's skills and the Wall's geography. But the principle is universal: find the people who care about a place, show them how wildlife fits into it, and work together.
Mark
What's the biggest threat to the swifts right now?
Mimi
Loss of nesting sites. Cities are being sealed up, made smooth and hostile to birds. The Wall is one of the few places left where they can safely raise young. That's why this matters.
The Pulse
- Swifts — birds that spend nearly their entire lives airborne — are choosing the Western Wall's ancient crevices as one of their last refuges during a continent-spanning migration, making one of the world's holiest sites also a critical wildlife corridor.
- The tension is real: a site managed by religious authorities, visited by millions, and laden with geopolitical complexity is not an obvious place to mount a conservation campaign.
- Shahar's unconventional solution — launching a paraglider to observe nesting birds at eye level without disturbing them — has turned an aerial hobby into a scientific monitoring tool unlike anything ground-based conservation can offer.
- Religious leaders, initially an uncertain audience, have begun to embrace the effort, reframing the protection of swifts not as an intrusion on sanctity but as an expression of it.
- With climate change reshaping migration routes and urban sprawl erasing natural nesting sites, the swifts' dependence on human structures is growing — and Shahar's model of respectful, cross-sector collaboration may be the template that follows them.
Above the ancient stones of Jerusalem, a paraglider named Yosef Shahar has found a way to hold two worlds together at once — the sacred and the wild. Each summer, thousands of swifts descend on the Western Wall to nest in its crevices, and Shahar rises on thermals to watch over them, counting fledglings and documenting a fragile coexistence that most people never think to look for. His work asks a quiet but enduring question: when we speak of stewardship, do we mean only what is human, or everything that shares the space with us?
From the air above Jerusalem, Yosef Shahar reads the sky not as a paraglider seeking thermals, but as a conservationist counting swifts. Every summer, thousands of these birds arrive mid-migration and settle into the crevices of the Western Wall — the surviving retaining wall of the Second Jewish Temple and one of the most sacred sites on earth. For swifts, creatures who eat, sleep, and travel entirely on the wing and touch ground only to nest, the Wall's height and sheltered ledges are irresistible. For Shahar, that choice has become a calling.
His method is as unusual as his office. Rather than monitoring from below, he launches into the air and rises on thermals to the level of the nesting birds, observing their behavior, counting fledglings, and documenting what allows them to survive — all without disturbing them. What he has found is that the swifts are not incidental to the Wall. They are woven into its living fabric, sharing the space with millions of worshippers in a relationship that is, in its own way, as old as the stones themselves.
Navigating the site's overlapping authorities has required as much diplomacy as ornithology. Yet Shahar has built unlikely alliances. Local religious leaders have come to see the protection of these birds not as a challenge to the Wall's sanctity but as an expression of it — stewardship extended to all living things. Conservation organizations have followed, lending expertise and resources to what began as one man's aerial vigil.
The stakes reach far beyond Jerusalem. The swifts nesting in the Wall travel migration routes that span continents, and understanding their needs in one city contributes to understanding them everywhere. As climate change disrupts those routes and urban development erases natural nesting sites, birds like these are increasingly dependent on human structures for survival. Shahar's work suggests the response to that reality is a choice — and that choosing to protect the swifts is, in the end, a way of protecting something in ourselves.
From the air above Jerusalem, a paraglider named Yosef Shahar watches the sky with the attention of someone who has learned to read it. He is not hunting. He is counting. Every summer, thousands of swifts arrive in the region during their long migration, and many of them choose the crevices and ledges of the Western Wall—one of the world's most sacred sites—as a place to nest and rest. Shahar has made it his mission to understand what happens to these birds during their most vulnerable weeks, when they are bound to stone and dependent on the narrow margins between survival and catastrophe.
The Western Wall, the surviving retaining wall of the Second Jewish Temple, stands in the Old City of Jerusalem as a place of profound religious significance. Its ancient stones rise from the ground and climb toward the sky, creating a landscape of shadows and niches that, to a swift, looks like home. These birds are remarkable creatures—they spend most of their lives in flight, eating insects caught mid-air, sleeping on the wing. They come to earth only to nest, and even then, they do so reluctantly, in the highest, most inaccessible places they can find. The Western Wall offers exactly what they need: height, shelter, and the kind of human activity that, paradoxically, keeps predators at bay.
Shahar's approach to conservation is unconventional. Rather than working from the ground, he launches himself into the air on his paraglider, rising on thermals that lift him to the level of the nesting birds. From this vantage point, he can observe the swifts without disturbing them, monitoring their behavior, counting fledglings, and documenting the conditions that allow them to thrive. His work has revealed something important: the swifts are not merely incidental to the Wall. They are part of its living ecosystem, and their presence matters—both ecologically and, in a way, spiritually, since they share the space with millions of visitors who come to pray and remember.
The intersection of wildlife conservation and religious heritage is not always smooth. The Western Wall is managed by multiple authorities, and decisions about the site involve considerations that go far beyond biology. Yet Shahar has found allies. Local religious leaders have come to understand that protecting the swifts is not a threat to the sanctity of the place but an extension of it—a recognition that stewardship includes all living things. Conservation groups have begun to support his work, providing resources and expertise. The paraglider has become a bridge between worlds that do not always speak to each other.
What makes Shahar's mission distinctive is not just the method but the scale of ambition. He is not simply protecting a few birds at a single site. He is demonstrating that urban wildlife conservation in culturally sensitive locations is possible when approached with respect, creativity, and genuine collaboration. The swifts that nest in the Western Wall are part of a migration route that spans continents. Understanding their needs in Jerusalem contributes to understanding their needs everywhere. Every fledgling that survives, every successful breeding season, adds to the knowledge that might help these birds navigate a world that is becoming increasingly hostile to their kind.
As climate change alters migration patterns and urban development continues to consume the wild spaces where swifts once nested freely, initiatives like Shahar's take on new urgency. The birds cannot advocate for themselves. They cannot negotiate with city planners or appeal to heritage committees. They can only nest where they find suitable shelter, and increasingly, that shelter is in human spaces—on buildings, in walls, in the crevices of our cities. Shahar's work suggests that we have a choice in how we respond to this reality. We can see the swifts as a problem to be managed, or we can see them as a sign that we share our spaces with other lives, and that protecting those lives is part of protecting ourselves.
Notable Quotes
From the ground, you see the Wall as a wall. From the air, you see it as habitat.— Paraglider on his conservation approach
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