Gevalt, Oy.

When the husband and I were strategizing to take up digs in the Marais, the thought of its twin cultural legacies were comforting, as they each have some semblance of my two former cities of residence: the old Jewish quarter (I’m a member of the tribe, from NYC no less) and the epicenter of the city’s gay population (I lived in San Francisco for nearly a decade). The combination would surely make us feel at home.

In reality, you may see the occasional cluster of Hassidim strolling around or rainbow sticker displayed in a storefront window, but our neighborhood is hardly 47th or Castro streets. It’s a fantastic area of Paris, to be sure, with its old, narrow streets; small, leafy parks; myriad boutiques, restos, and cafés; and all-around laid-back charm. But one thing our quartier is for sure is gentrified. The French might call it bobo, or bourgeois bohemian. And this process of gentrification, which began several years ago, may be benign to one of the neighborhood’s key social groups, but is squeezing out the other.

The rue des Rosiers is the heart of Jewish life in the Marais, boasting kosher bakeries, Israeli falafel joints, Judaica shops, and small synagogues scattered on side streets. When you walk the insanely narrow, cobble-stoned street (all three blocks of it), you can see these vestiges of Jewish culture—but they’re few compared to the number of modern fashion boutiques lining the rue. On my first walk down Rosiers, I felt simultaneously heartened and disheartened. The reality was as surprising as the first time I visited the corner of Haight-Ashbury—I wasn’t expecting to see a hippie commune, and to be honest I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a swath of expensive shops. The Haight has been performing a dance for years now, holding onto its bohemian past while making way for its gentrified present. A few years ago, Haight-area residents successfully petitioned against plans to open an Urban Outfitters on the infamous street. People feared that “mall-ification” of the rest of the street would follow, and wanted to prevent the havoc the store would wreak on the already insane weekend crowds and impossible street-parking situation. Back on the rue des Rosiers, people are gearing up to resist the very real threat of an H&M store opening on the grounds of a former hammam. The last thing the largely chain-free yet pedestrian-thronged Marais needs now—especially on Rosiers—is a big, brash H&M store.

I can’t afford to shop in the smart boutiques and don’t need an H&M within 10 minutes of my house, but I support the Jewish businesses by literally putting my money where my mouth is. I relish frequenting the two best eateries on Rosiers, where I can be sure to get my money’s worth for a delicious lunch and also practice my very-rusty Hebrew: the famous L’As du Falafel (best falafel outside the homeland? The long line of locals and tourists proves it) and the kitty-cornered fabulous deli with the blue-tiled exterior (I can’t remember the name and it’s driving me crazy—but they make great turkey and pastrami sandwiches and have all kinds of Sefardic and Ashkenazi goodies). Gentrification may be inevitable, but I know where my loyalties lie.