Singing

A Passover Seder without my own family, for the first time. I missed everything about it, including the things I thought I would never miss.

Here I was invited to celebrate at my uncle Itomar's home. He lives close to Kikar HaMedina, which is as close as Tel Aviv gets to Paris for shopping. The walk there took me precisely 31 minutes (as Google Maps predicted). I had been told that for the Passover Seder night, since pretty much everyone celebrates, the country becomes one huge parking lot. Maybe that is the case elsewhere, but what I saw was a very quiet city, no buses of course, very few cars on the road. Only a few people out, walking their dogs. The city that never sleeps wasn’t sleeping but wasn't out either. All stores were closed, including the cafes (a first). The air was fragrant with the smell of orange blossoms. Sometimes, as I walked past open windows, I could smell the chicken soup.

Orange Blossoms filled the air

I enjoyed the Passover Seder at my uncle's home. There were 30 people there and about 15 kids, ages ranging from baby to early teen. We sung the songs and took turns reading the Haggadah; it was beautiful to hear how it can be read without an accent and without hesitation (I begged off reading; I didn’t want to make so many hungry people wait for me).  When the time came to search for the afikoman, it was mayhem, but my uncle seemed very calm so I thought he didn't mind the kids tearing up his place. Which they did. The food was wonderful. Itomar's wife is Sephardic so <gulp> rice was served too. They also had all my favorite foods, charoset (made with dates; who knew!), homemade gefilte fish, chicken soup with matzah balls, two types of meats... Life is good.

In Israel they celebrate only one night, so I made sure I tasted everything.

It was interesting to see the families’ composition. Most secular Israelis have three kids (statistically, the fertility rate is 2.9 children; in comparison, Canada’s is 1.9; the US rate, 2.06; Chile’s is 1.94) and everyone at the Seder had three. Most people invited live in Tel Aviv or in an immediate suburb, but one family drove all the way from the Negev where they live in a moshav right on the border with Egypt (a 2 hour ride to Tel Aviv for them, and they weren't fazed by it).

Overall, the Seder was pretty secular, which I was expecting, and I was OK with that. Throughout, I was thinking: They all have served in the Army; there is even a Lieutenant General in this room. And that is good enough to keep us going.

At the start of the Seder, I asked Itomar's daughter sitting next to me what "Next year in Jerusalem" means to her. She told me they never get to the second part of the Haggadah. So I guess that settles it for her.

This morning I asked a business associate the same question. He is, on his mother’s side, a 4th generation Israeli, and on his father’s side, the son of a Holocaust survivor. He looked at me puzzled and said, "I am in Jerusalem." So I asked him about Jerusalem as a symbol of Maschiach coming. He retorted, "I don't believe in Maschiach. I live in Israel". So that settles it for him.

Then, I read in the Jerusalem Post that they asked the same question of the US ambassador to Israel (who happens to be Jewish).

Q: When you say “Next year in Jerusalem,” what are you thinking? Is it Jerusalem, the capital of Israel? 

A: I am thinking about the interconnection of the Jewish people to Jerusalem, which I certainly feel personally.  It is a holy city for Jews; it is a holy city for other people to. That’s why we say it, that’s why we like to spend time there. As a matter of US policy, I can’t improve on what the State Department spokesperson said.

And I guess that settles it for the State Department.

Israelis often eat something they call Aruchat Esser, "the 10 am meal," which as best as I can tell consists of a sandwich. So for Passover, I now see that a few stores sell matzah sandwiches ready to go. No, I am not tempted.

Mazah sandwich for sale

On King George Street, the morning after: Someone who forgot to stop drinking after the requisite Four Cups

Earlier in the week, I had found a huge synagogue tucked away in a small street just two blocks from my apartment so this past Saturday I went there. (No, I did not fall this time). The rabbi had the most amazing voice, a tenor, and the high vaulted ceiling made his voice resonate very loudly. I loved that. It was not an anglo shul so the prayer books were only in Hebrew. There were not a lot of people there. I do not get it: such a huge building.

For lunch I was invited for a Pesach lunch by the sister and husband of my brother in law Aaron in Toronto. I had spent a Saturday afternoon with Malka and Nisim walking in the Tel Aviv Port, but now I got to meet their lovely daughters, their husbands (and husband to be) and the two grand-daughters. Aaron’s mother was there as well.

The children and their families come to the parents’ home every Saturday to eat lunch and spend a relaxed time together.  It was such a pleasure to be with them, as they all seem very comfortable in each other's company and were very welcoming. The food was exquisite, all fresh salads; roast; Bulgarian leek dumplings. All home-made. They are Sephardic so there was also <gasp> rice, but I managed. They picked the fresh mint (“nana”) off the windowsill container – and a caipirinha (or was it a mint mojito?) has rarely tasted this good. I also tasted cava, pink sparkling wine, which in my sheltered life I had never tasted before and now highly recommend. At the end, I was ready for my shabbes shluf.

The family lives in Nes Ziona, which was founded in 1883 by a Jew who bought the land from the Templers. It is south of Tel Aviv and about 10 km inland from the Mediterranean. On the way there, we stopped in Jaffo at the home where my brother in law and his sister were born (Nisim described it as “one of Israel’s major landmarks”). The home is now owned by the Anglican Church and we couldn’t go in, but I hear from Debby that the floors are all Arab mosaic tile, absolutely beautiful, with a view of the Tel Aviv beaches from the top. 

In front of “one of Israel’s major landmarks”

It was a nice stop, made more interesting by the fact that we ran into an old Arab-Israeli long-time neighbour of the family, who was very happy to see us (well, not me; Nisim) and asked about Madlena’s health and wanted to reconnect with her.

Nisim & Malka's family

...and now we switched photographers.

Nisim & Malka's granddaughter was very talented using my iPad

I have figured out a quick way to tell locals from tourists: Tourist always choose to sit in the sunshine; Israelis, on the other hand, are preparing for the long haul, and whenever possible choose to sit in the shade.

 The weather has definitely turned for the better, and now I have completely forgotten about the rainy days when I first arrived in March. I look at my raincoat taking up space in the closet and wonder what that item is used for.

On Sunday afternoon, my friend Natania visited from Jerusalem, and it was really like old times. We sat for a few hours in my neighbourhood café and I felt so comfortable talking with her – as if we were still back in Chile (And yes, we first sat in the sunshine and then moved to a shadier table. She is a local).

"Illuminated" with Natania

On Sunday evening, Rafi’s cousin Avi invited me to the Days of Song Festival at the Holon Theater, an annual music festival. So, continuing with my decision not to turn down any reasonable invitation or new experience in these three months, off I went on the bus.

The theatre is located on Kugel Road (you’ve got to love a town that names a street after a sweet egg-noodle casserole… Just kidding; but Avi took me seriously on this and told me it is named after Holon's first mayor, Dr. Haim Kugel. I stand corrected, but still prefer my version).

Outside the Theatre, the warm-up act

Israelis love music and singing, and this was a tribute evening to a famous local composer, Moni Amarilio (link to MySpace here) who has composed over 450 songs. 

Stage

At first I thought I would be bored out of my mind: 1960s ballads I had never heard (I was hoping for Jerusalem of Gold so I could have a good cry, but no luck); composed by someone I have never heard of; sung by singers I have never heard of either; all in a language I pretty much don’t understand. 

Boy, was I wrong! To begin with, they actually projected the lyrics of each song -- with nekudot! – so I could read and follow along (no one was singing karaoke, mercifully). There was so much love in the air. People seemed so happy, swaying to the songs and breaking into applause in the middle, clearly reminded of sweet memories. At times it was weird as I felt like I should remember these songs -- which I have never heard.   I feel so fortunate to have been there, the only tourist for miles and miles.

Lyrics, but not to sing along

Avi drove me back and I was home at midnight. 

The city that never sleeps wasn’t sleeping, every café was full, and young people mingled and chatted and smoked in the warm night air.

Chag Sameach!

Passover starts tonight and I will be celebrating freedom with my uncle Itomar and his family. Right this moment I am feeling very sorry for myself that I won't be with my own family. I guess this is the price to pay for having chosen March to May for my adventure.

While I will miss very much being with Rafi and my daughters, Harley, my mother, Inge, Gabi and his family and Georgia and her family as we have celebrated together for so many years, I am lucky that this year I will get to find out what Israelis in Israel think and do when we say "Next year in Jerusalem!" - which we Jews always say at the end of the Passover Seder (who says we don't have a historic claim to this land? But I digress).  

The temple in Jerusalem was destroyed 2,000 years ago and this "Next year in Jerusalem" references Psalm 137, the well-known lament of the Babylonian Jews who wept "by the rivers of Babylon" and declared, "If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither."

Logically, to Israelis "Next year in Jerusalem" should mean "Jerusalem" as the future city and its Temple, rebuilt when the Messiah comes. Somehow I suspect secular Israelis do not think this. But do they think about this at all? (And how obnoxious will I be if I start asking this as "the Fifth Question" at the Seder tonight?)

From the moment I got here five weeks ago, I have been invited to celebrate Passover many, many times, by both friends, family and people I had only met a couple of times. I know that what was once a mandate to feed the poor during Passover has evolved into a tradition of inviting people, often complete strangers, who would otherwise be alone, to their Seders.  Regardless, I am thrilled about it and infinitely flattered.

Tel Aviv is a secular city and I am sure it is very different an hour away in Jerusalem. I see matzah and kosher for Passover products being sold everywhere. All the kosher restaurants and cafes have had diminished inventory in the last few days as they prepare for the switch (or to be closed) for Passover. The corner AM:PM market (like a 7/11) has covered up shelves of chametz products The cab drivers wish me a Chag Sameach and ask me where I will be celebrating the Seder, and so does the lady at the dry cleaners (where I took my wool jacket which I now doubt will need again here). The flower shops are doing booming business. The local wine store was handing out samples of wine Kosher for Passover (amazingly, I had to sample quite a few before I decided what to get my uncle and his wife).  And apparently, there are kosher for Passover medicinal Cannabis cookies available in Tel Aviv too.

AM:PM market shelves with chametz covered up

Brisk business

But really, other than these things, it isn't so obvious that Passover is coming. Somehow I expected it would be a bit like December in the western world where you are hit with Christmas messages. It is nothing like that. I am sure it is different in Jerusalem but here, "in the Republic of Tel Aviv'" life goes on as usual, sort of.

What else is happening in the country?

Outside the pleasant Tel Aviv bubble, the papers report that security is on high alert ahead of Passover holiday. Large contingents of police, Border Police and volunteers were set to patrol crowded areas with the aid of helicopters. However, while the army has closed the West Bank border and put troops on alert for the first two days of the Passover holiday, the closure will only be in effect on Friday and Saturday. Reports say that if the security situation remains as appraised today, then during the remainder of the holiday no closure will be imposed -- for the first time in years.

This sounds draconian (under the ban, no Palestinians are allowed to cross into Israel except those needing medical care). But what else can the IDF do when Jewish holidays create crowds in synagogues and other public places that are most vulnerable to potential attacks by Palestinian militants? (the appeal of blowing yourself up to experience the the 72 virgins, again).

On another front, a large police force was sent to Eilat on Thursday for reinforcement, following the firing of a Katyusha rocket at the city from the Sinai Peninsula late Wednesday. The IDF had thwarted 10 different terrorist plots to attack the country from Sinai in the past two months. So, again, no one in Egypt is enforcing peace, with Israel stuck between bombing targets in the Sinai - Egypt! - and risking an escalation into all-out war, and allowing Israeli civilians to be hit in Eilat. (And the Moslem Brotherhood hasn't even yet been voted in. That comes in May.)

Here is a 59-second Passover greeting video from the IDF chief of staff. Enjoy!

(In case your Hebrew is as bad as mine, in essence it says: This evening we gather around the Seder table to celebrate Passover with the Jewish people. Just like every day... IDF soldiers of the various units will be at Israel's borders, on patrols and posts, flying and on vessels - prepared for any incident that would require us to defend the security of Israel's civilian population. Happy Passover to all who celebrate in Israel and around the world).

Best wishes for a Happy Passover or a Happy Easter to all who read this (with my heartfelt thanks for all the encouragement you have been sending me).

"Next year in Jerusalem!"

 

Being political

Wednesday was a very busy day. I met with my first female start-up president, "S." followed by a meeting with the two principals of a company that matches Israeli start-ups with US investors (I am getting clever now, and scheduled the meetings back to back in the same cafe). 

From there I went to meet with the team at another start-up that I have already been helping, to complete a workshop we had started. While we spent a fair amount of time working, my favorite part was our long talk after about Israel, politics, and its ethnic composition.

The four guys at the meeting were all a lot younger than me, and while all are of Ashkenazi background and as paleface as me, they have all married women whose family provenance is countries such as Morocco and Irak (therefore Sephardic). As a result, their children are the "new face" of Israelis. I could have stayed forever chatting with them - but apparently they have a life and I don't. At least not here.

In the evening, I was invited for dinner to Lea Simonson's, one of my Chilean schoolmates, in Ramat Aviv Gimmel (a suburb of a suburb?). Lea recently qualified as a Chinese medicine practitioner, after a career in high tech. At her place I met her husband and her daughter, as well as her daughter's boyfriend. Lea's beautiful daughter (who looks like I remember Lea looking, but with straighter hair), is working on a degree in bio-tech, for which there seems to be a huge demand here. At first I tried to have our conversation only in Hebrew but after they politely pointed out they speak English AND Spanish too, I figured I had given them enough of a headache (I think I am not conjugating properly... I must sound like a retarded tourist most of the time).

I was enjoying our lively dinner conversation a lot, and (thought) I was showing off about how much I now knew about the Israeli political system; the economy; changes to how unemployment figures are now being reported; employment trends within the religious community; the strength of the Israeli banking system... 

Eventually, I shut up and asked Lea's husband Haim what he did. Well, until a few months ago he was the Ministry of Finance Director General. In other words, he was the de facto Israeli Minister of Finance!

(Yes, that was embarrassing. I should have known that he wasn't just your run of the mill Israeli interested in politics when he was able to list off the top of his head all the parties with and without representation in the Knesset.)

Thursday I spent most of the day fretting about my speaking engagement at The Junction. 

The Junction is an open house for entrepreneurs, or an "Accelerator". Any active entrepreneur (regardless of his/her idea) is welcome to join, be a part of, and work there. It is sponsored by Genesis Partners, an Israeli Venture Capital firm. Every Thursday they bring a speaker on a topic of interest to entrepreneurs -- and today it was me!

But before my speech, I met up for lunch with Michael Gally (aka, "M" in previous blog posts; I have now asked him for permission to use his name).

We met at 12:00 at Toto, a trendy restaurant close to the Tel Aviv Museum, just a few blocks from my apartment.  Unfortunately, only the cafe was open (good enough sandwiches, but not quite what the gourmet restaurant that the restaurant guide had promised). I didn't realize the restaurant only opened for lunch at...12:30.

(At some point I will figure out the answer to the question, "When do people eat here?")

To make up for the average food, I invited Michael and his wife to join me and Rafi at the "real" Toto next time.

Michael and I were supposed to work on planning a few client engagements where he has been kind enough to introduce me, but I could not hold back asking him a few more questions. He is quite a sport and shared with me what he thinks is happening.

Michael Gally

I wanted to know why are people I meet in Tel Aviv so adamantly and aggressively anti-religious. I told him about how, when I tell people here my personal story about my own relationship with Chabad in Vancouver and how wonderful I think the rabbi and his wife are, it elicits a virulent and angry response. Here, people tell me Chabad are trying to brainwash and kidnap me.

 Why the anger?

Being Orthodox is political. Michael believes that in Israel secular Jews are angry at the religious Jews because they, the secular, are the ones who end up paying the bills.

Ultra-religious men do not work (they study Torah full-time instead) and go on welfare and drain the country's resources. And worst of all, they do not serve in the Army (and this is unforgivable to a Tel Avivian). In addition, the religious are disproportionately strong politically as they hold the balance of power in most if not all coalition governments. This results in funds not going to education and infrastructure, for example, which would benefit secular Israelis. Additionally, secular Israelis are more open to compromises with the Palestinians, which the religious parties adamantly oppose (yet they don't serve in the Army...).

That is why secular Israelis see any outreach activity to other Jews by the religious, such as Chabad or Eish HaTorah, as kidnapping.

Michael believes that economic issues aren't a Left vs Right thing the way we understand it in North America. The only issue of Left vs Right is compromise with the Palestinians - or not. On economic matters, the overall consensus is that "Right" is right (and that would explain why so many people I talk to in high tech actually vote Labour).

The average secular Israeli feels very, very little in common with an ultra religious Jew in Jerusalem. In Israel, being an Orthodox Jew is a political statement unlike anything in the Galut where one'as religious affiliation is detached from political power.

Being Orthodox here is political. That's all. And so, suddenly, an off the cuff remark I heard someone make recently about someone's son becoming religious and moving to Israel ("Right, he will stay here and after two years he will be on welfare and we will pay for him too") made a lot of sense.

My speech at The Junction was scheduled to start at 4:30 pm and I was told to be there at 4:00. Of course I was there at 3:30 and the presentation didn't start until 4:50. Regardless, I think it went well, I wasn't pelted, got great questions and met some really, really bright young people developing some very interesting tech solutions to real, everyday business problems.

Yours truly at the (informal) podium

People mingling before the event

With Yuval K (check out www.joytunes.com)

The Junction’s workspace is located in Florentine Neighborhood, in the southern side of the city. The area has a combination of Industrial and Residential, young and old, trendy and poor (yes, a few drunks there). A few years back, apparently, Florentine was really expected to flourish after a very successful television series chose the neighborhood as its location.  Since then, Florentine has established its reputation as a cool place, trendy and modish, loved by the young, bohemian and reckless.  Many students and artists have set up shop here, enjoying the inspiring atmosphere and cheap prices. Perfect workplace location for start-ups. 

Industrial view of Tel Aviv, from The Junction in Florentine

Bragging moment: The Junction's capacity is 70 people. For my presentation, they 'sold out' within 10 minutes of sending out the promo email two weeks ago, and there were over 130 people on the wait list.

I think I will sleep soundly tonight.

The view from here

I am falling behind in my posts - slacker!  Sunday was a quiet day, as I had a project to complete so I spent most of the day sitting at my favorite neighbourhood cafe, in the sunshine. Mostly not working. 

Cafe Masaryk

In the evening, I walked to Jaffa to have dinner with Rafi's cousin Avi and his mother at a restaurant called Doctor Shakshouka and yes, they specialize in shakshoukas, a dish of eggs poached in a sauce of tomatoes, chili peppers, onions, served on a pan. They also serve other Libyan specialties. The location is very picturesque; sort of a mix of shabby-chic and middle eastern, with long shared tables, and very casual. Not sure which look wins.

Doctor Shakshouka

Monday I went to an amazing and often overlooked place, Akko. I had been invited to meet with a telephony company located about 30 minutes outside town - and jumped at the opportunity to go there. Rafi and I visited Akko four years ago and I remembered it as a beautiful Arab town by the sea and was happy to go back.

(Before going to Akko, on the way to the train station in the morning, the cab driver took me via the "scenic route" which, on the one hand really bugged me and cost me an extra 10 shekels, or 3 bucks, but on the other I realized I have been here long enough to know when a cab driver does you in. I don’t feel so much like a tourist now; worth the extra 10 shekels.)

The train ride took about 90 minutes. The ride is all along the sea, so most of the time you can see the Mediterranean roll along, on miles and miles of sandy beaches. Too bad the train windows weren't the kind you can open so I could smell the breeze.

Akko is a port city in the Western Galilee region of northern Israel at the northern extremity of Haifa Bay. Akko is one of the oldest continuously inhabited sites in the country, probably five thousand years, and the holiest city of the Bahá'í Faith.  Its Old City has been designated by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site and there are remarkable sights (and sites). It doesn't get as many tourists as it should (do I real mean this?).

The Old City is a sleepy place -- and that makes it so charming (the new city surrounding it is fine, populated mostly by Russian immigrants who got here in the 1980s and 25% of the population is Arab Israeli). The Old City is compact and within a few steps you can visit sites like Ottoman ruins to Crusader foundations and more. 

Fun Fact: 1799 was a big year for Napoleon as his siege of Akko failed and then his battered army returned to Cairo and Napoleon secretly left Egypt after that. But things could have been different. Napoleon actually tried to negotiate with Chaim Farhi, the Jewish assistant to the ruthless Ottoman ruler, to switch sides by issuing the first post-biblical call for a Jewish homeland under French protection in this land, way ahead of the British Balfour Declaration by 118 years. Farhi declined and Napoleon came crashing against Akko's walls. The end.

Most Israeli Arab citizens live in the Galil, and Akko is often regarded as an example of coexistence. The city, oddly enough, has a very violent history but since the creation of the State of Israel, other than riots that erupted in the city in 2008 after an Arab citizen drove through a predominantly Jewish neighbourhood during Yom Kippur leading to five days of violence (not bad violence apparently), it has been a beautifully boring town.

In Akko I took a cab ride from the train station to the old city to look around. Here are some views....

Port view

Souk fishmonger

Souk

Inside the main Mosque

Main Mosque courtyard

Main Mosque courtyard

View from the ramparts

Climbed the Old City walls that did Napoleon in

View from the ramparts

A lane in the Old City

Inside the Mosque

I didn't have a lot of time before my meeting so I walked to see the Old City walls, the port, the souk as well as the Mosque, and found the restaurant I was looking for, which is mentioned In the book I am reading, Walking Israel: A Personal Search for the Soul of a Nation by Martin Fletcher, an NBC News journalist who lives in Israel (the book is OK, but I am actually trying to get the author’s email address to take him to task on some of his unbalanced narrative, but I am enjoying parts of it nonetheless).

The restaurant is called Hummus Sa’id, right in the souk. There, I asked for the menu (probably not the first giveaway that I am a tourist here) and was told everyone orders the same: hummus with chickpeas and olive oil; pickles; tomato slices; hot, sweet tea; and pita (I should have known: this is what the book’s author had). I am not the biggest fan of hummus but I have to say this was absolutely the tastiest, most velvety humus I have ever had.  Unfortunately I couldn't linger here as one should, because I was planning on meeting Ruth Bridger, who was driving me to the Galilean hills to the meeting in her company. The waiter kept shaking his head each time I asked for the bill. I was not staying long enough, and he was right. I left feeling slightly nauseous, as the stuff is heavy and I ate too quickly, but it was worth it. I hope to come back.

Best hummus ever

The Galilean hills are beautiful, gently sloping and very green. Ruth is the first woman in high tech I meet in Israel (there aren't too many in North America either), and we had a wonderful conversation (no surprise). By the time we got to the Industrial Park where they are located, I had learned about her family, what her kids do, when and how she moved here from California, about her career, and what it is like to live here. It was fascinating – and I could so relate to her! (She looks a lot younger than me but we are both Scorpios and the same age.)

What fascinated me the most were Ruth’s many examples of coexistence between Arabs and Jews in this part of Israel. Being in high tech, lots of her stories involved high tech examples. I heard that in Nazareth, the Israeli government funded an Incubator to aid the Israeli Arab sector, focusing on bio-med. A former employee in her company has done three start-ups, and they are all highly successful and their valuations are increasing all the time. Plus, the one start-up that originated in the Incubator has since moved to Ruth’s building as well.

There is a Arab-owned call centre company in her building that provides jobs for Arab women who, because of cultural reasons, do not want jobs where they interact with men (I have heard similar stories about creating employment in call centre jobs for Orthodox Jewish women too).

Unemployment in Israel is low, about 6%, and this is especially true in high tech where there is so much competition for qualified people and pretty much everyone dreams of "doing a start-up". I asked Ruth if this “institutionalized racism” Israel-haters talk about is real in her industry. No, she told me, high tech companies hire Arabs and anyone else with the right skills.   "Where you've got talent, you take it" Ruth said.  

Most fascinating was a story Ruth told me about a Moslem Arab man in the nearby town of Sakhnin who, just like his father and grandfather before him, volunteered and served in the IDF (Arab Israelis are exempted from mandatory service).  When deployed, he was stationed in Hebron, a real hotbed of violence in the West Bank, and this was extremely helpful to the IDF's goal of keeping order as he understood how to speak to the locals. But this isn't Disneyland, so he has been ostracized and spat upon in his village. 

In a recent documentary called  Ameer Got His Gun  (the link to the promo is here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9OY6wZ84hyU) he was interviewed and said words to the effect that "I live here and I support my country, and while I don't agree with everything the government does, neither do the Jews."

Truer words I haven't heard here so far.

A stroll by the sea

Saturday morning I was horrified when I realized I had woken up at 10:45 am. A few minutes later I was only slightly less horrified when I remembered we had moved the clock forward so it was really only 9:45 and I had slept almost 10 hours straight. So I missed going to synagogue.

The scars on my forehead from last week's fall are way better, and I think people have stopped staring at me - at least for that reason (only Rafi consistently notices it on Skype). The upshot of the fall is that I now own new sunglasses (two pairs; the guy at the mall was great at talking me into the second pair for 50% off. Lisa! I need to go shopping with you again).

Me. Self-portrait. New sunglasses.

During the day I did the thing everyone here seems to do on Saturdays when the streets, without buses, are pretty quiet (I know, nothing like Jerusalem, but still): I walked to the beach. It was about 20 degrees C so still a bit too cool for me to lie in the sun, although this didn't stop the many who were there sunbathing today. I arrived at the Tayelet and turned right, going north, and walked towards the Port (ie., Lebanon).

Nothing much happened; it was pure bliss.

For a few hours I walked and watched and enjoyed, anonymously staring at people (it’s OK; I wear dark sunglasses). What does "look Jewish" mean? I certainly did not learn it today.

There were thousands of people strolling about, lots of couples (straight, gay, multi-age, multi-colored), lots of huge baby strollers carrying 2 or 3 babies and toddlers, lots of very cool-looking teenage kids calmly walking along with their parents and grandparents. Everybody talking, using their hands. Many observant people enjoying their Shabbat stroll. Lots of larger groups of same-age people in their late 20s and early 30s sitting outdoors in restaurants drinking wine and eating platefuls of Mediterranean appetizers. (Actually, "everyone" seemed to be either eating an ice cream cone or having lunch at one of the many, many seaside restaurants). Clothing-wise, I could have been anywhere in the western world, although perhaps the average person I saw is a bit more zaftig than back home - and still dares to wear fashionable clothing. Many had straight hair (some were probably born with it). Lots of bicyclists and runners in their designated lane on the Tayelet. Lots of smokers. People who looked Russian. People who looked African. Kids on fancy-looking tricycles not trying to run you over (yeah, right). A few handsome young men in wheelchairs. Lots and lots of people with dogs (glad one doesn't take cats for walks). Everyone has a cell phone in their hand (including bicyclists) constantly talking to someone, even when walking along with someone else (who is also on the phone).  The birds were chirping; the sounds, blaring in the background (was it music? I don't know). There was a gentle breeze that came and went and made me put on and take off my light jacket constantly. Several times I was stopped by someone asking me for directions. I guess I fit right in.

(At one point I stopped to enjoy a cup of Turkish coffee at a seaside cafe. Note to self: Never, ever drink the *last* sip of a cup of Turkish coffee again.)

Below are some snapshots of my morning:

Bolivian musician playing at the port. First time I hear Hebrew with a Quechua accent.

Resisted the urge to dance (others did not)

There are beggars here too. This one was deaf. Could I say no?

Sea view

Matkot playing everywhere. What if they miss while you walk past them?

Entrance to the art market. Was the guard (centre) guarding or checking out girls? Hard to say.

Port view

Promenade has undulating ground. Kids on bikes love it.

Sailboats

Large groups gather to dance. Square dance. Salsa. And more.

No age restrictions

"The beach is not an ashtray" - lots of smokers

Lots of outdoor gyms - with equipment - along the beach.

And one more gym on the beach

Seeing this man made me homesick (guess why?)

At the Port

In the late afternoon I met up with my Chilean school friends, who had organized a get-together. It is amazing to see people you have known since the age of, what, four – and they haven’t changed one bit!

In 1970 and subsequently, after Allende was elected President, many people left Chile. Within the Jewish community, many made Aliyah (others moved to places like Canada). Many of my classmates who live in Israel get together regularly, especially when a classmate comes to visit. 

Instituto Hebreo Chaim Weitzmann, Santiago, Chile...Tel Aviv.

From left to right: Lea Simonson Shani, Jaya Goldstein Levin, me, Noni Bochner, Leo Paradis Fink, Nurit Fosh-Baltiansky, Natania Isaak and the lone male, Arturo Wechler.

It was very nice to see them all and I enjoyed  getting caught up with what they and others back in Chile are up to (el copucheo fue genial y mejor que no repita nada de lo que se hablo!).

 

Later in the evening, I went to a jazz club where the daughter of a business contact was singing and playing. I had been invited but really didn’t think I would go as the show was slated to start at 10:30 pm which is way, way past my bedtime, But Rafi, during our Skype call, told me to go and experience it. And why not? (Other than the obvious, of course). So I went.

The jazz club, called Ozen Bar (the Ear Bar??), is located about 5 blocks from my apartment, on Dizengoff and King George. I got there; paid my entrance fee; declined the in-and-out stamp (didn’t think I would need it…) and immediately realized I was probably older than the average patron’s mother. Who cares; I don’t know anyone. So I ordered a glass of wine and proceeded to read the National Post's political commentary on my Blackberry while waiting for the show to start (I know that this is NOT cool. But I am older than the average club patron’s mother. How much worse can it get?).

Gally Alon on stage

The show started about an hour after it was supposed to (at 11:30 pm) and I was: (1) so incredible past my bedtime; and (2) feeling very, very mellow.  Gally Alon’s performance was wonderful, and here is a link to one of her YouTube recordings: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iHMxSfZ_mE  After about 20 minutes I left.  I had accomplished my goal to not turn any reasonable new experience down (with a little help from my husband; thank you Rafi!).

Walking home alone at midnight I realized I feel pretty safe here.