The local Bobover hasidim had a street party last night, to celebrate the holiday of sukkot. Fairy lights were strung from the lamposts, and a long black tarp was set up along the kerb to divide the women from the men. Bewigged and modestly dressed women stood on the sidewalk with the babies, peeping over the black tarp at the men, who were dancing on the street - which had been blocked off to traffic by the police. All this would've been cool, I guess, if the party hadn't been on my street, and the live music - provide by an enthusiastic but singularly untalented band with the remarkably original name "The Yeshiva Boys" - had been a decibel or two below unbearable. Too bad I had a sinus headache, and too bad it was too hot to close my windows.
Until 11:00PM my live-and-let-live policy fought successfully with my fever and headache- induced grouchiness. But at 11:15 I was in a fightin' mood. How many versions of "Send the Messiah Now" (number one on the hasidic hit parade) can a human being bear? Tolerance was kaput: I grabbed my mobile phone and keys and went downstairs, planning to call the cops and let them listen to the noise. But there was no need: the first person I saw was an unsmiling young female police officer, who, in answer to my aggressively addressed question, cocked a well-plucked brow ("you givin' me attitude?") and told me that the music was scheduled to stop at 11:30PM.
And I confess, I felt like a bit of a bitch for wanting to end their party early. The hasidim - at least, the hasidic men - seemed to be having an awfully good time, dancing in circles and kicking up their legs. They'd even recruited a few of the local secular tatooed and earring'd guys to dance with them. I stood with the women on the sidewalk, but none of them would talk to immodestly dressed me - not even when I smiled and wished them a happy holiday. The kids, many of them holding clouds of cotton candy, literally backed away from me when I grinned and waved at them. The band stopped playing promptly at 11:30PM, as promised, and I went back upstairs to swallow a couple more headache pills. But now I can't sleep, which is annoying.
So I've been flipping through this week's edition of Time Out Tel Aviv, which is celebrating its 100th edition by listing 100 things that are great about Tel Aviv. I saw the third edition at a newsstand at Ben Gurion Airport when I came back from Tokyo, in December 2002. At the time things were pretty grim around here: umemployment was around 12%, a lot of people who had jobs were being told that they'd have to accept salary cuts to keep them, there was at least one suicide bombing per day, and gas masks were being handed out in anticipation of Saddam Hussein's reaction to the imminent invasion of the coalition forces - ie, long-range poison gas missiles targeted at Israel.
Or, as Nirit Weiss puts it - rather breathlessly - in the introduction to the "100 great things", "Time Out Tel Aviv first came out at a time when we were all drowning under the political-economic-national burden. There was a major recession. The hottest place in town was the unemployment office for university graduates (don't even ask what an excellent pick up joint that was). No one could say when things would get better. But the city, its residents, fought back, escapists, living in their little state of dreams, and managed to overcome. At an incredible pace, one that left us not a little astonished, the happy hour began. The finest hour of the city's businesses arrived. Eagerly, we gulped down everything that the residents of any sane city need - the bread, and especially the butter, of the soul...After 100 weeks in Tel Aviv, with the help of hundreds of writers and photographers who covered every corner, Time Out is proud to present: the 100th edition that is just one big hymn of praise to the people, places, ideas and things that are the reason we love to live here so much. And yes, there are also ten things to bitch about as well. But hey, how could there not be?" (my translation).
I still find it astonishing that the big guys at Time Out London granted a franchise to a publisher in a city of less than half-a-million residents, in a country that was - is - going through the worst period in its history. Yes, Tel Aviv is a very cool city - but it seems rather strange that there are three Time Outs - for London, New York, and...Tel Aviv. And, incredibly, it thrived. Chalk up one more for Israeli chutzpah. (and imagine what would happen if we put all this energy and enthusiasm into peace negotiations with the Palestinians!)
The list is mostly pretty good - it covers everything from charming hidden side streets to vintage clothing shops to the best place to get Italian ice cream. But my absolute favorite (irony intended) is number 78, entitled "The real pick up: getting laid for the price of a drink?! It's a deal." (Actually, the Hebrew says, "A fuck for the price of a drink" but I thought I'd be polite). The blurb for number 78, written by the charming Shai Fogelman, goes on thus: "If the pick up scene here were lifting off to the heights of local rumour, life in this city would've already become one big orgy. But it seems that things don't pan out quite according to promise. At Ziegel [a veteran bar on north Dizengoff], on the other hand, the statistics are a bit different. Dim lighting, a balcony decorated like a brothel, and crowding that permits just the right amount of squeezing so as to be pleasurable, combine to create the right conditions for the best place where you can get a fuck for the price of a drink. And that's personally confirmed." (my translation).
Well thank you, Shai, for that stunning and valuable piece of information. I'm sure the women you date will be delighted to discover that you are a truly princely example of the new and evolved Israeli man.
