Jerusalem Post, Billbaord; December 23, 2005
It's hard for American hip-hop stars to get by with the tons of cash and fame that can be attained with a hit album. These days such stars just have to have their own record labels, their own restaurants, their own nightclubs, or their own bars. It's no different for the Israeli king of hip-hop, Subliminal (born Yaakov Shimoni), who, in the spirit of American hip-hop entrepreneurs Jay-Z and Diddy, has expanded his music enterprises to include a massive dance bar on Rival Street in Tel Aviv.
'Geha Mega Bar,' which cost over NIS 4 million to build, is the largest in the Middle East, stealing the title from Lanski. Long, immense black bar decks supported by metal girders and chains seem to float throughout Ge'ah's large industrial space. Brick walls recall some dark New York alleyway, warm and cryptic.
'It's a solution for people who go out at night,' said Subliminal at a recent fashion party at Geha featuring catwalks by Elite models. The place was sprinkled with hip-hop personalities, including Subliminal's right-hand man HaTzel (The Shadow) and American hip-hop stars De La Soul, in Israel for a concert at Hanger 11.
The Israeli hip-hop king opened the bar a few weeks ago with two other owners, but the place will probably become known as 'Subliminal's place.'
'You have a lot of bars, but none of them really have good sound,' Subliminal continued. 'Discos are not as popular as they once were, and bars are taking over. This combines both: a bar, a nightclub sound system, and a dancefloor.'
And talk about a steamy dance floor! It's made out of a 4 m x 4 m glass-framed panel that encases a hot tub, which bubbles when the dancefloor is elevated. That usually only happens during private parties, yet it's a nice thing to show off and it makes you feel like some Israeli version of Snoop Dog will arrive at any moment, surrounded by bikini-clad platinum blondes with black roots and plastic boobs.
'We kept it ghetto, but made it chic,' said Subliminal, referring to the design. 'It looks like a subway station, like a jail.'
This theme also carries into the crowd - from the Adidas-clad, rich ghetto wannabes to the black-collared, high-class arse (greaser).
The VIP section (for those who order champagne in advance) is open for all to see, and giant selectors make entrance seem formidable. In all, a mixture of pretense and the sense that it's obvious everyone's trying a bit too hard explode at about midnight - when the dancefloor is picked up by hot air, literally.
Geha, Rival 9, Tel Aviv. Music: Hip-hop, dance, Israeli, mainstream. Hours: From 10 pm. Tel: (03) 537-2661.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
U.S. Studios Court Israeli Programmers
The Jewish Journal; December 22, 2005
Click here for original
Danna Stern, head of acquisitions at YES, Israel's only television satellite company, was surprised to see that Mark Burnett, reality TV guru and producer of hit shows like "Survivor" and "The Apprentice," had only one framed press clipping in his office: a feature on him that had appeared in Ha'aretz, an Israeli daily.
Stern and her associates get wined and dined every year by television network executives at a weeklong Los Angeles screening of shows in May, during which 2,000 television executives from all over the world sit all day in front of studio screens to view the new fall season pilots for sale.
Hollywood exports are a big business, and U.S. studios sometimes rake in more from international licensing than domestic. Even though Israeli acquisitions account for only 2 percent of overseas television exports, Stern thinks Israel gets special attention.
"They're always interested way beyond our share in the market -- and the same goes for the talent," she said. "Because we're a very recognizable country, they're very accessible to us."
In addition, she added, most of the marketing people and executives are Jewish, and are "always interested in Israel."
Stern has mingled with Geena Davis, Teri Hatcher and Jennifer Garner, who take the time to meet with the foreign visitors at studio parties.
"The stars are really interested in hearing what works well," she said. "They always promise to come [to Israel], but they never do."
Last month, YES held its first-ever press screening at Israel's largest cinema complex, Cinema City, in Herzilya, modeling it after the Los Angeles screening, to show-off its newest acquisitions. Among them are: "Prison Break," "Grey's Anatomy," "My Name Is Earl," "Commander in Chief," "The War at Home," "Supernatural Invasion" and "How I Met Your Mother." YES directors believed that the number and quality of acquisitions justified its screening, in which dozens of Israeli reporters got to watch U.S. television for an entire day.
While the new shows will be broadcast early next year, the turnaround time between a show's U.S. premiere and its Israeli premiere is much shorter than in the past.
YES was founded about five years ago, increasing competition in the Israeli television market. Before that, only one cable company and two Israeli networks, Channel 2 and IBA, vied for U.S. and European shows. Now, YES competes with a whole slew of television outlets: a new Israeli network (Channel 10) and locally run niche channels for lifestyle, music, action, children, comedy, parenting, sports, documentaries and even Judaism.
Prior to this television growth spurt, visitors or immigrants to Israel were hard pressed to find their favorite U.S. TV show on Israeli channels, and if they did, they were stuck with shows from a season or two earlier. "Seinfeld" first aired only after the third season premiered in the United States.
"Everyone is trying to shorten the time because of piracy -- people are already downloading shows the next day, so we can't afford to wait as we usually did," Stern said
The YES executive said that the current delay of a few months still has advantages. Israel does not air reruns, and a U.S. buzz around a show has enough time to echo in Israel.
YES has been the leader in importing U.S., as well as British, TV shows, including "The West Wing," "Weeds," "Entourage," "The Sopranos," "The Comeback," "Arrested Development," "The O.C.," "Hope and Faith," "Scrubs" and more. Last year's acquisition, "Desperate Housewives," is the biggest hit. Other shows, like "Nip/Tuck," "Everybody Hates Chris" and "Lost," were picked up by other Israeli networks.
Sometimes Israeli buyers view new shows via broadband, but May is the time the big sales occur, when Stern and her associates choose among 30-40 programs. She noted that shows with religious themes, like "7th Heaven" and "Joan of Arcadia," don't do well in Israel.
"I think Israelis are a little more sophisticated than the average American viewer," she said. "They tend to like things with an edge."
Click here for original
Danna Stern, head of acquisitions at YES, Israel's only television satellite company, was surprised to see that Mark Burnett, reality TV guru and producer of hit shows like "Survivor" and "The Apprentice," had only one framed press clipping in his office: a feature on him that had appeared in Ha'aretz, an Israeli daily.
Stern and her associates get wined and dined every year by television network executives at a weeklong Los Angeles screening of shows in May, during which 2,000 television executives from all over the world sit all day in front of studio screens to view the new fall season pilots for sale.
Hollywood exports are a big business, and U.S. studios sometimes rake in more from international licensing than domestic. Even though Israeli acquisitions account for only 2 percent of overseas television exports, Stern thinks Israel gets special attention.
"They're always interested way beyond our share in the market -- and the same goes for the talent," she said. "Because we're a very recognizable country, they're very accessible to us."
In addition, she added, most of the marketing people and executives are Jewish, and are "always interested in Israel."
Stern has mingled with Geena Davis, Teri Hatcher and Jennifer Garner, who take the time to meet with the foreign visitors at studio parties.
"The stars are really interested in hearing what works well," she said. "They always promise to come [to Israel], but they never do."
Last month, YES held its first-ever press screening at Israel's largest cinema complex, Cinema City, in Herzilya, modeling it after the Los Angeles screening, to show-off its newest acquisitions. Among them are: "Prison Break," "Grey's Anatomy," "My Name Is Earl," "Commander in Chief," "The War at Home," "Supernatural Invasion" and "How I Met Your Mother." YES directors believed that the number and quality of acquisitions justified its screening, in which dozens of Israeli reporters got to watch U.S. television for an entire day.
While the new shows will be broadcast early next year, the turnaround time between a show's U.S. premiere and its Israeli premiere is much shorter than in the past.
YES was founded about five years ago, increasing competition in the Israeli television market. Before that, only one cable company and two Israeli networks, Channel 2 and IBA, vied for U.S. and European shows. Now, YES competes with a whole slew of television outlets: a new Israeli network (Channel 10) and locally run niche channels for lifestyle, music, action, children, comedy, parenting, sports, documentaries and even Judaism.
Prior to this television growth spurt, visitors or immigrants to Israel were hard pressed to find their favorite U.S. TV show on Israeli channels, and if they did, they were stuck with shows from a season or two earlier. "Seinfeld" first aired only after the third season premiered in the United States.
"Everyone is trying to shorten the time because of piracy -- people are already downloading shows the next day, so we can't afford to wait as we usually did," Stern said
The YES executive said that the current delay of a few months still has advantages. Israel does not air reruns, and a U.S. buzz around a show has enough time to echo in Israel.
YES has been the leader in importing U.S., as well as British, TV shows, including "The West Wing," "Weeds," "Entourage," "The Sopranos," "The Comeback," "Arrested Development," "The O.C.," "Hope and Faith," "Scrubs" and more. Last year's acquisition, "Desperate Housewives," is the biggest hit. Other shows, like "Nip/Tuck," "Everybody Hates Chris" and "Lost," were picked up by other Israeli networks.
Sometimes Israeli buyers view new shows via broadband, but May is the time the big sales occur, when Stern and her associates choose among 30-40 programs. She noted that shows with religious themes, like "7th Heaven" and "Joan of Arcadia," don't do well in Israel.
"I think Israelis are a little more sophisticated than the average American viewer," she said. "They tend to like things with an edge."
Friday, December 9, 2005
Life imitates art at 'Kol Nidrei' (review)
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; December 9, 2005
Oren was shaking as he left the auditorium. He had just seen Kol Nidrei, a new play by Yeshoshua Sobol about haredi Jews who lead double lives as Bnei Brak yeshiva students by day and Tel Aviv bar-hoppers by night. Oren, who requested that his real name not be used, was wearing a black kippa and a blue button-down shirt rather than the white shirt worn by most yeshiva students.
"[The play] really spoke to me," said Oren, in his mid- twenties, who lives in a haredi community with his wife and child. His wife didn't know where he was that night, and by sneaking off to see the play, which he discovered on the Internet, he too was leading a double life. Even wearing a blue shirt as opposed to the accepted white was a big step for him.
Kol Nidrei exposes the growing phenomenon of haredi Jews who explore the secular world, almost always in secret. The play blurs the boundaries between art and life, as the haredi rebels are actually played by yotzim - a term used to describe haredi Jews who "come out" of their communities.
Their real-life stories inspired Sobol, a renowned Israeli playwright who sought to bring this subject to the fore.
The play opens with the main character, Nachman (Menachem Lang), bickering with his wife, Esti (Gili Yoskovich) after Friday night dinner. He excuses himself to attend a tisch with his rebbe - a cover-up for an outing with his married chum Chaim (Nadav Segel), in which they exchange their shtreimels [festive fur hats] for T- shirts and sneak out to Tel Aviv. This clash of cultures forces all characters - secular and haredi alike - to confront their values and determine what they really want.
The heated exchanges between the couples at the Friday night table - filled with Torah references and religious idioms - give secular audiences a peek into dysfunctional haredi homes. The audience can be made to feel like intruders, especially when Nachman appears curled up with his secular lover. Yet the play, which is based on thorough research, tackles the subject with seriousness and humor, which makes it more than just a shallow critique or voyeuristic look into ultra-Orthodox communities.
The play features three formerly haredi actors who now study acting. Lang's performance at times seems uncertain, never successfully infusing Nachman with an identity of his own. Segel's acting comes across as amateurish in some scenes, especially as he casually gulps gefilte fish while revealing shocking truths to his wife Rachel (played by professional actress Lucy Duvinchik). Yoskovich gives the most convincing performance of the three yotzim. However, knowing that the actors are dramatizing their own experiences makes up for the fact that they never studied acting.
While Lang, who plays Nachman, was never attracted to Tel Aviv nightlife, and actually disapproves of his character's extreme double life, he thinks that on some level, most haredi Jews lead double lives. "Any haredi who is not totally immersed in Torah leads a double life," he said.
This second life can range from secretly watching soccer games or television to cruising around secular communities (as Lang did) to hiring prostitutes.
Oren, who related to the character of Nachman, is intrigued by pubs and nightclubs. An 18-year-old once took him to a Tel Aviv pub, but he didn't feel comfortable. "I felt like a stranger," he recalled.
Indeed, the haredi and secular lives can seem to exist in two separate countries, with different dress, customs, language and manners. That is why the character of Nachman in Kol Nidrei goes so far as to change his name before venturing into Tel Aviv.
"The portrayal is very authentic," Oren said. He excuses Nachman's continual lies and adultery, calling him "a victim."
Oren says he considers himself secular, and doesn't believe in God or Jewish law. Yet his outward appearance sets him apart as a religious Jew. He puts off doing what he says he "needs to do" - including getting a divorce - because of social pressures and the potential heartbreak of his frail mother, a widow.
"I can't go tomorrow, shave my beard and say that's me," he said. "I don't have the inner strength."
For now, he's taking advantage of his job, which brings him into contact with secular people. "If the time ever comes to 'come out,'" he said, "it could be that this play was the trigger."
Herzliya Theater Ensemble, Herzliya Performing Arts Center, Rehov Jabotinsky 15, December 8, 9, 10. Tickets: (09) 972-9999
Oren was shaking as he left the auditorium. He had just seen Kol Nidrei, a new play by Yeshoshua Sobol about haredi Jews who lead double lives as Bnei Brak yeshiva students by day and Tel Aviv bar-hoppers by night. Oren, who requested that his real name not be used, was wearing a black kippa and a blue button-down shirt rather than the white shirt worn by most yeshiva students.
"[The play] really spoke to me," said Oren, in his mid- twenties, who lives in a haredi community with his wife and child. His wife didn't know where he was that night, and by sneaking off to see the play, which he discovered on the Internet, he too was leading a double life. Even wearing a blue shirt as opposed to the accepted white was a big step for him.
Kol Nidrei exposes the growing phenomenon of haredi Jews who explore the secular world, almost always in secret. The play blurs the boundaries between art and life, as the haredi rebels are actually played by yotzim - a term used to describe haredi Jews who "come out" of their communities.
Their real-life stories inspired Sobol, a renowned Israeli playwright who sought to bring this subject to the fore.
The play opens with the main character, Nachman (Menachem Lang), bickering with his wife, Esti (Gili Yoskovich) after Friday night dinner. He excuses himself to attend a tisch with his rebbe - a cover-up for an outing with his married chum Chaim (Nadav Segel), in which they exchange their shtreimels [festive fur hats] for T- shirts and sneak out to Tel Aviv. This clash of cultures forces all characters - secular and haredi alike - to confront their values and determine what they really want.
The heated exchanges between the couples at the Friday night table - filled with Torah references and religious idioms - give secular audiences a peek into dysfunctional haredi homes. The audience can be made to feel like intruders, especially when Nachman appears curled up with his secular lover. Yet the play, which is based on thorough research, tackles the subject with seriousness and humor, which makes it more than just a shallow critique or voyeuristic look into ultra-Orthodox communities.
The play features three formerly haredi actors who now study acting. Lang's performance at times seems uncertain, never successfully infusing Nachman with an identity of his own. Segel's acting comes across as amateurish in some scenes, especially as he casually gulps gefilte fish while revealing shocking truths to his wife Rachel (played by professional actress Lucy Duvinchik). Yoskovich gives the most convincing performance of the three yotzim. However, knowing that the actors are dramatizing their own experiences makes up for the fact that they never studied acting.
While Lang, who plays Nachman, was never attracted to Tel Aviv nightlife, and actually disapproves of his character's extreme double life, he thinks that on some level, most haredi Jews lead double lives. "Any haredi who is not totally immersed in Torah leads a double life," he said.
This second life can range from secretly watching soccer games or television to cruising around secular communities (as Lang did) to hiring prostitutes.
Oren, who related to the character of Nachman, is intrigued by pubs and nightclubs. An 18-year-old once took him to a Tel Aviv pub, but he didn't feel comfortable. "I felt like a stranger," he recalled.
Indeed, the haredi and secular lives can seem to exist in two separate countries, with different dress, customs, language and manners. That is why the character of Nachman in Kol Nidrei goes so far as to change his name before venturing into Tel Aviv.
"The portrayal is very authentic," Oren said. He excuses Nachman's continual lies and adultery, calling him "a victim."
Oren says he considers himself secular, and doesn't believe in God or Jewish law. Yet his outward appearance sets him apart as a religious Jew. He puts off doing what he says he "needs to do" - including getting a divorce - because of social pressures and the potential heartbreak of his frail mother, a widow.
"I can't go tomorrow, shave my beard and say that's me," he said. "I don't have the inner strength."
For now, he's taking advantage of his job, which brings him into contact with secular people. "If the time ever comes to 'come out,'" he said, "it could be that this play was the trigger."
Herzliya Theater Ensemble, Herzliya Performing Arts Center, Rehov Jabotinsky 15, December 8, 9, 10. Tickets: (09) 972-9999
Retro cool bar (review)
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; December 9, 2005
If That 70s Show was looking to film a lounge scene in Israel, Saluna Lounge Bar would be a good pick. While Saluna is only a year and a half old, on entering the place one would think that it had been a Jaffa establishment for decades. This long corridor is lined with mini living rooms made up of sofas upholstered in funky retro patterns, with each lounge area separated by brown beaded curtains. Glass cabinets house a strange variety of objects - from books to figurines.
The 'chandaloofah' prominently shining over loungers embodies the bar's distinctive combination of style. A chandelier is a fixture of the upper class, while a loofah sponge is a poor man's luxury.
Saluna's interior designers, Roth-Tevet Space Design, recently received the 2005 Ot HaItzuv award for their work on Saluna. Dubbed the 'Oscars for design,' these awards were given to a group of accomplished interior and industrial designers on Thursday at the Tel Aviv Exhibition Grounds, where a massive exhibition, 'Design 2006' is being held through Saturday.
It's only upon carefully looking that one sees Saluna's design was delicately calibrated. While the sofas look old and battered, they are actually custom-made reproductions of 60s and 70s furniture, with each fabric hand-picked. Seeking to infuse the place with the local language of Jaffa, some furniture items, like the funky lamps, were bought at the Jaffa flea market. The Oriental patterned, multi-colored floor is the only original part of the building.
'Design isn't about furniture, colors, or certain materials. That's boring,' said Roth, who likes calling himself an 'experience designer.' 'We're interested in a story. I think contemporary design should tell a story, because stories never bore you.'
The owners of Saluna wanted to create a warm, inviting Jaffa-inspired lounge-bar that was also a cultural platform. The walls above the mini living rooms are covered with paintings, illustrations or photographs that alternate every month.
'You get to experience art in a less formal way than in a gallery,' explained Roy Roth, who designed Saluna with his partner, Ya'al Tevet. 'You come to drink and, by the way, you look at art.'
Last August, Saluna inspired a street-wide exhibition that transplanted art from galleries, studios and museums to the streets of Jaffa without permission from municipal authorities.
Saluna attracts a casual, arty, trendy crowd. Perhaps because of its design, the bar attracts an uncommonly high percentage of female patrons.
Roth attributes the female inflow to the softness of the place; it's not sleazy or masculine. 'Most bars are masculine. They are designed by men and owned by men,' he said.
With all its mini living rooms, Saluna is also a favorite for birthdays.
Rehov Tirza 17, Jaffa, (03) 518-1719; Music: Freestyle DJ nightly. Hours: From 9 p.m.
If That 70s Show was looking to film a lounge scene in Israel, Saluna Lounge Bar would be a good pick. While Saluna is only a year and a half old, on entering the place one would think that it had been a Jaffa establishment for decades. This long corridor is lined with mini living rooms made up of sofas upholstered in funky retro patterns, with each lounge area separated by brown beaded curtains. Glass cabinets house a strange variety of objects - from books to figurines.
The 'chandaloofah' prominently shining over loungers embodies the bar's distinctive combination of style. A chandelier is a fixture of the upper class, while a loofah sponge is a poor man's luxury.
Saluna's interior designers, Roth-Tevet Space Design, recently received the 2005 Ot HaItzuv award for their work on Saluna. Dubbed the 'Oscars for design,' these awards were given to a group of accomplished interior and industrial designers on Thursday at the Tel Aviv Exhibition Grounds, where a massive exhibition, 'Design 2006' is being held through Saturday.
It's only upon carefully looking that one sees Saluna's design was delicately calibrated. While the sofas look old and battered, they are actually custom-made reproductions of 60s and 70s furniture, with each fabric hand-picked. Seeking to infuse the place with the local language of Jaffa, some furniture items, like the funky lamps, were bought at the Jaffa flea market. The Oriental patterned, multi-colored floor is the only original part of the building.
'Design isn't about furniture, colors, or certain materials. That's boring,' said Roth, who likes calling himself an 'experience designer.' 'We're interested in a story. I think contemporary design should tell a story, because stories never bore you.'
The owners of Saluna wanted to create a warm, inviting Jaffa-inspired lounge-bar that was also a cultural platform. The walls above the mini living rooms are covered with paintings, illustrations or photographs that alternate every month.
'You get to experience art in a less formal way than in a gallery,' explained Roy Roth, who designed Saluna with his partner, Ya'al Tevet. 'You come to drink and, by the way, you look at art.'
Last August, Saluna inspired a street-wide exhibition that transplanted art from galleries, studios and museums to the streets of Jaffa without permission from municipal authorities.
Saluna attracts a casual, arty, trendy crowd. Perhaps because of its design, the bar attracts an uncommonly high percentage of female patrons.
Roth attributes the female inflow to the softness of the place; it's not sleazy or masculine. 'Most bars are masculine. They are designed by men and owned by men,' he said.
With all its mini living rooms, Saluna is also a favorite for birthdays.
Rehov Tirza 17, Jaffa, (03) 518-1719; Music: Freestyle DJ nightly. Hours: From 9 p.m.
Friday, December 2, 2005
A fine line
Jerusalem Post, Metro; December 2, 2005
Tel Aviv drivers struggle daily to find legal parking spaces - or pay the price.
It is a sight that every driver dreads: a parking ticket under the windshield wiper. In many cases, the meter had just run out or there was no vending machine for parking vouchers and you took the chance, or you thought that no one would give tickets at that hour. Now you're paying the price, anywhere from NIS 100 to NIS 500.
Outside Tel Aviv's traffic court on Rehov Weitzman, where alleged parking offenders make their first court appearance to contest fines, people are often angry - and sometimes downright depressed.
"The municipality is having a feast from this problem - it's good income," complains Moshe (last name withheld by request), a property manager, hurling a common accusation at the city. At his court hearing, Moshe claimed to have parked late at night near a storefront on a very large sidewalk in such a way that his vehicle obstructed neither pedestrians nor vehicular traffic.
By law, a sidewalk is considered any section of a street - whether paved or not - designated not for vehicles but for pedestrians.
"There were no signs," he argued, adding that the area could easily have been private property.
However, a sidewalk is a sidewalk. The judge gave Moshe the option of pleading not guilty and taking the ticketing officer to court, where Moshe would then have to present proof that the section of pavement where he parked was indeed private property.
Moshe paid the NIS 500 fine.
"It's so time-consuming that it's not worth it. The trial takes place midday and I would have to take time off work," he explained.
Not one of the defendants leaving the courtroom had anything nice to say about the legal process. At the hearings, which are open to the public, a judge presides while a stenographer records the session. A city prosecutor steeped in the city's parking laws, surrounded by files of paperwork except for the actual parking ticket, argues against the claim of the defendant, who states his reasoning at the podium.
"I don't think it matters what you say. The municipality has its rules, and they fix them so that you can't really fight the ticket or reduce the fine," argues Moshe.
In most cases, defendants appeal not to the law but to common sense.
Oded from Herzliya argued that his car was breaking down and, rather than continue to drive to Herzliya, he stayed at a friend's house near Rehov Sheinkin, one of the areas most hard hit by a dearth of parking spaces. He claimed to have searched in vain for a legal parking space for hours, then decided to park his car illegally on a red-and-white pavement and call a tow truck in the morning. By 7:30 a.m., a NIS 500 ticket was on his windshield. He brought receipts from the mechanic to prove that his car had problems, and his fine was lowered to NIS 300 due to "unusual circumstances."
Oded was far from pleased.
"I was sure I'd win because I thought I had a really good reason. I had no other choice - the car was broken down. This whole legal system is a joke and a big show, but it's a show from both sides - even the defendants sometimes put on a show," he said, adding that he will think twice before reentering the city with his car.
After pleading her case unsuccessfully at the podium, one woman began to weep in front of her prosecutor. She had bought a new car but had not yet received a permit allowing her to park freely near her home, and accumulated more than NIS 1,000 in tickets. She had already paid the city NIS 2,000 for previous violations. The law dictated that she owed money regardless. The only comforting suggestion the prosecutor offered her was to pay her fines in installments.
Yael, a lawyer who came to protest both her parking fine and the tow-truck tariff, had parked her car in a non-painted "gray" parking space, with one wheel protruding into a red area. She was charged NIS 150 for illegal parking and had to pay NIS 160 to release her car from a municipal pound.
She argued that her car should not have been towed, since it did not pose any obstruction that justified towing. Yael cannot help but suspect that parking officials and tow-truck companies collaborate. To receive a refund for the towing charge, she will have to sue the towing company separately. She plans to fight her ticket but thinks the process is unfair from the start.
"They give you the feeling that you're always guilty and have to prove your innocence," she says.
In the case of parking violations, presumed guilt is allowed in Israel as in other countries including the US. Parking violations are considered "strict liability offenses," which means that the local authority has only to prove that the defendant committed the crime, regardless of his or her motivations or intentions.
Tel Aviv-Jaffa is the Israeli city most beset by parking problems. An estimated 400,000 motorized commuters enter the city every day. Daily traffic through Tel Aviv reaches one million vehicles daily - a majority of them from outside the city.
Some 390,000 people live in Tel Aviv-Jaffa, on 51 square kilometers of crowded streets and sidewalks.
About 270,000 cars are registered as belonging to Tel Aviv residents, an unknown number of them fictitiously. Parking problems do not, apparently, deter Tel Avivians from buying cars. Some 45% of Tel Aviv residents own private vehicles, compared with 26% of Israelis nationally. But they think twice before entering their cars, for fear of losing the parking space.
According to the municipal spokesman's office, there are 275,000 parking spaces in Tel Aviv-Jaffa. Some 32,000 are preferred parking spaces (blue/white); 46,000 free spaces (gray); 5,000 limited spaces (gray/red); 10,000 spaces in open lots; 44,000 spaces in private lots; 60,000 spaces in paid lots; and 78,500 spaces in residential lots.
Central Tel Aviv - the area enclosed by Jaffa, the Mediterranean coast, the Yarkon river and the Ayalon freeway - lacks sufficient parking spaces to accommodate all its residents and visitors. There are only about 30,000 legal (blue-and-white) parking spaces along central Tel Aviv streets, and another 60,000 spaces in private and public lots.
The result is that drivers are inevitably forced to park illegally - especially at night and in the city center - for lack of open space. Municipal parking inspectors write approximately one million parking tickets a year, and about 100,000 cars are towed to municipal lots.
"Tel Aviv-Jaffa was built 94 years ago with narrow streets and no thought about parking problems," notes Dr. Moshe Tiomkin, head of Tel Aviv-Jaffa municipality's transportation, traffic and parking authority.
Although no one likes receiving parking tickets, they are necessary to preserve order in the city, explains Tiomkin. "If cars park on sidewalks, where will people walk? Parking in designated areas prevents accidents."
Money, he clearly states, is not a motivation.
Tiomkin claims that the city does not profit from parking tickets because expenses outweigh the revenue. According to his figures, the municipal treasury generates NIS 75 million per year from parking fines. (Last January, YNET reported that the city earned NIS 107 million in 2004 and intends to raise its parking revenue to NIS 157 million in 2005, a 400% increase since 1998, when Roni Milo was mayor. Tiomkin could not comment on the discrepancy.)
When asked about the city's parking policy, municipal spokesman Hillel Partok issued the following statement: "The Tel Aviv-Jaffa municipality would prefer not to give even one parking ticket a year, and certainly not to tow any cars, as long as law and order is preserved and sidewalks remain open to pedestrians. Contrary to popular opinion, the city does not make any money from the fines and towing fees but rather succeeds in covering expenses for the joint supervision and maintenance of the parking system in the city."
Asked about a situation in which a car is parked late at night on a sidewalk in a way that clearly poses no obstruction to pedestrian or vehicle traffic, Tiomkin replied: "If you asked me, I wouldn't write a ticket. It's an issue of common sense."
Yet he agreed that if one were to fight the ticket, the law - not common sense - prevails.
Nor does he see a solution to Tel Aviv's parking woes. "We won't solve the problem. Whoever lives in Tel Aviv has to know that it's a problem," he said.
Tiomkin suggests that to alleviate the problem, residents must use more public transportation or two-wheeled vehicles, such as bicycles or scooters. The city is currently developing 100 km of bike paths, and plans are underway for an underground railway that will travel from Petah Tikva to Bat Yam, slated for completion in 2012.
He noted that the municipality has taken measures to alleviate the parking problem in recent years. Tel Aviv residents can now park in several Tel Aviv lots for half- price and purchase an Easy Park electronic parking meter that allows them to park for up to three hours for 63 agorot per hour, down from NIS 2.40 in the past. On the other hand, fines for several parking violations were more than doubled in August 2004. Tiomkin explains that the hike was a preventive measure meant to discourage illegal parking.
While the Easy Park and permit zoning have made life easier for some residents, the parking issue continues to anger Tel Aviv drivers, and parking remains a thorn in city life, especially when one NIS 500 parking ticket constitutes almost 10% of the average Israeli's salary.
Building more legal and inexpensive parking lots in the city center does not appear to be at the top of the municipal agenda. Tiomkin pointed out that the city has proposed building underground parking lots beneath Rabin Square and the Habimah Theater in the past, but local residents' objections stymied the projects.
Free parking, he says, is not an automatic right.
"When you buy a car, you also pay for insurance and gas, and that's okay - so why not pay for parking?"
Outside the courthouse Moshe, still peeved by his verdict, thinks that free parking is not a privilege but a necessity like electricity and water. He suggests civil disobedience to counter what he believes is a big money-making scheme.
He acknowledges that laws should protect people but insists that tickets should not be given in circumstances where parking defined as "illegal" presents no danger or inconvenience.
"Parking should be a top priority of anyone in office because it angers everyone," says Jerusalem resident, Ami, who often drives into Tel Aviv. While he also faces parking challenges in the capital, he acknowledges that the situation is much worse in Tel Aviv.
"Everyone talks about it and everyone's angry. If someone speeds dangerously on the highway, you know they deserve to be punished. But if you park for just a few minutes longer than you're supposed to, you know they just want your money," he says.
(BOX #1) Parking tips
* Know the parking rules and read signs carefully.
* If you think the parking space is illegal, it probably is. Find a lot.
* Don't rely on the ticketing officer's compassion or common sense.
* If you appeal a ticket, base your argument on law, not common sense or emotion, unless you can cite very unusual circumstances. Bear in mind that a court hearing may take up an entire afternoon.
* Before you go to court, write a diplomatic letter to the parking and traffic department (22 Rehov Sha'arit Yisrael, Tel Aviv-Jaffa 68165)
* Don't count on the situation improving in the near future. Parking annoyances are often a matter of tough luck and are part of city life.
NIS 100 violations: Metered parking without voucher or Easy Park, in preferred parking for permit holders, double- parking, parking near/on an intersection or crosswalk, or in a way that obstructs/delays traffic.
NIS 250 violations: Parking in a bus or taxi station, "No stopping" or "No parking" areas, against specifically posted instructions or with two wheels on the sidewalk.
NIS 500 violations: Parking with four wheels on a sidewalk or two wheels on a sidewalk, leaving less than 130 cm clear for pedestrians, or in a space reserved for handicapped parking.
(BOX #2) Gross mismanagement
Municipal practices have been brought to public attention in recent months by the probe into parking lot owner Reuven Gross, nicknamed "The King of Parking," who is accused of bribing city officials.
In June, Gross was arrested for involvement in a crime organization. The police accused him of money laundering, forgery and bribery. The well-connected businessman is suspected of bribing city officials for information that would help him secure tenders issued by the municipal park lot company, Ahuzat Hof.
Ahuzat Hof CEO Yaakov Meir, city councilor Yeshayahu Drori and Gross's daughter Maya were also arrested in connection with the affair.
The case has also involved the mayors of Ramat Gan, Haifa, and Tel Aviv. The police claim to have enough evidence to indict Bar, and his file has been handed to the state prosecutor. Haifa Mayor Yona Yahav and Tel Aviv Mayor Ron Huldai were questioned under caution as to whether they received perks from Gross in exchange for political donations. Gross contributed to Huldai's 1998 election campaign.
In late November, the parking lot company Hatzlacha, which owns dozens of lots throughout the country, succeeded over Gross in winning an Ahuzat Hof tender to operate five large car parks in Tel Aviv. Gross had placed his bid for the tenders via a third party.
Tel Aviv drivers struggle daily to find legal parking spaces - or pay the price.
It is a sight that every driver dreads: a parking ticket under the windshield wiper. In many cases, the meter had just run out or there was no vending machine for parking vouchers and you took the chance, or you thought that no one would give tickets at that hour. Now you're paying the price, anywhere from NIS 100 to NIS 500.
Outside Tel Aviv's traffic court on Rehov Weitzman, where alleged parking offenders make their first court appearance to contest fines, people are often angry - and sometimes downright depressed.
"The municipality is having a feast from this problem - it's good income," complains Moshe (last name withheld by request), a property manager, hurling a common accusation at the city. At his court hearing, Moshe claimed to have parked late at night near a storefront on a very large sidewalk in such a way that his vehicle obstructed neither pedestrians nor vehicular traffic.
By law, a sidewalk is considered any section of a street - whether paved or not - designated not for vehicles but for pedestrians.
"There were no signs," he argued, adding that the area could easily have been private property.
However, a sidewalk is a sidewalk. The judge gave Moshe the option of pleading not guilty and taking the ticketing officer to court, where Moshe would then have to present proof that the section of pavement where he parked was indeed private property.
Moshe paid the NIS 500 fine.
"It's so time-consuming that it's not worth it. The trial takes place midday and I would have to take time off work," he explained.
Not one of the defendants leaving the courtroom had anything nice to say about the legal process. At the hearings, which are open to the public, a judge presides while a stenographer records the session. A city prosecutor steeped in the city's parking laws, surrounded by files of paperwork except for the actual parking ticket, argues against the claim of the defendant, who states his reasoning at the podium.
"I don't think it matters what you say. The municipality has its rules, and they fix them so that you can't really fight the ticket or reduce the fine," argues Moshe.
In most cases, defendants appeal not to the law but to common sense.
Oded from Herzliya argued that his car was breaking down and, rather than continue to drive to Herzliya, he stayed at a friend's house near Rehov Sheinkin, one of the areas most hard hit by a dearth of parking spaces. He claimed to have searched in vain for a legal parking space for hours, then decided to park his car illegally on a red-and-white pavement and call a tow truck in the morning. By 7:30 a.m., a NIS 500 ticket was on his windshield. He brought receipts from the mechanic to prove that his car had problems, and his fine was lowered to NIS 300 due to "unusual circumstances."
Oded was far from pleased.
"I was sure I'd win because I thought I had a really good reason. I had no other choice - the car was broken down. This whole legal system is a joke and a big show, but it's a show from both sides - even the defendants sometimes put on a show," he said, adding that he will think twice before reentering the city with his car.
After pleading her case unsuccessfully at the podium, one woman began to weep in front of her prosecutor. She had bought a new car but had not yet received a permit allowing her to park freely near her home, and accumulated more than NIS 1,000 in tickets. She had already paid the city NIS 2,000 for previous violations. The law dictated that she owed money regardless. The only comforting suggestion the prosecutor offered her was to pay her fines in installments.
Yael, a lawyer who came to protest both her parking fine and the tow-truck tariff, had parked her car in a non-painted "gray" parking space, with one wheel protruding into a red area. She was charged NIS 150 for illegal parking and had to pay NIS 160 to release her car from a municipal pound.
She argued that her car should not have been towed, since it did not pose any obstruction that justified towing. Yael cannot help but suspect that parking officials and tow-truck companies collaborate. To receive a refund for the towing charge, she will have to sue the towing company separately. She plans to fight her ticket but thinks the process is unfair from the start.
"They give you the feeling that you're always guilty and have to prove your innocence," she says.
In the case of parking violations, presumed guilt is allowed in Israel as in other countries including the US. Parking violations are considered "strict liability offenses," which means that the local authority has only to prove that the defendant committed the crime, regardless of his or her motivations or intentions.
Tel Aviv-Jaffa is the Israeli city most beset by parking problems. An estimated 400,000 motorized commuters enter the city every day. Daily traffic through Tel Aviv reaches one million vehicles daily - a majority of them from outside the city.
Some 390,000 people live in Tel Aviv-Jaffa, on 51 square kilometers of crowded streets and sidewalks.
About 270,000 cars are registered as belonging to Tel Aviv residents, an unknown number of them fictitiously. Parking problems do not, apparently, deter Tel Avivians from buying cars. Some 45% of Tel Aviv residents own private vehicles, compared with 26% of Israelis nationally. But they think twice before entering their cars, for fear of losing the parking space.
According to the municipal spokesman's office, there are 275,000 parking spaces in Tel Aviv-Jaffa. Some 32,000 are preferred parking spaces (blue/white); 46,000 free spaces (gray); 5,000 limited spaces (gray/red); 10,000 spaces in open lots; 44,000 spaces in private lots; 60,000 spaces in paid lots; and 78,500 spaces in residential lots.
Central Tel Aviv - the area enclosed by Jaffa, the Mediterranean coast, the Yarkon river and the Ayalon freeway - lacks sufficient parking spaces to accommodate all its residents and visitors. There are only about 30,000 legal (blue-and-white) parking spaces along central Tel Aviv streets, and another 60,000 spaces in private and public lots.
The result is that drivers are inevitably forced to park illegally - especially at night and in the city center - for lack of open space. Municipal parking inspectors write approximately one million parking tickets a year, and about 100,000 cars are towed to municipal lots.
"Tel Aviv-Jaffa was built 94 years ago with narrow streets and no thought about parking problems," notes Dr. Moshe Tiomkin, head of Tel Aviv-Jaffa municipality's transportation, traffic and parking authority.
Although no one likes receiving parking tickets, they are necessary to preserve order in the city, explains Tiomkin. "If cars park on sidewalks, where will people walk? Parking in designated areas prevents accidents."
Money, he clearly states, is not a motivation.
Tiomkin claims that the city does not profit from parking tickets because expenses outweigh the revenue. According to his figures, the municipal treasury generates NIS 75 million per year from parking fines. (Last January, YNET reported that the city earned NIS 107 million in 2004 and intends to raise its parking revenue to NIS 157 million in 2005, a 400% increase since 1998, when Roni Milo was mayor. Tiomkin could not comment on the discrepancy.)
When asked about the city's parking policy, municipal spokesman Hillel Partok issued the following statement: "The Tel Aviv-Jaffa municipality would prefer not to give even one parking ticket a year, and certainly not to tow any cars, as long as law and order is preserved and sidewalks remain open to pedestrians. Contrary to popular opinion, the city does not make any money from the fines and towing fees but rather succeeds in covering expenses for the joint supervision and maintenance of the parking system in the city."
Asked about a situation in which a car is parked late at night on a sidewalk in a way that clearly poses no obstruction to pedestrian or vehicle traffic, Tiomkin replied: "If you asked me, I wouldn't write a ticket. It's an issue of common sense."
Yet he agreed that if one were to fight the ticket, the law - not common sense - prevails.
Nor does he see a solution to Tel Aviv's parking woes. "We won't solve the problem. Whoever lives in Tel Aviv has to know that it's a problem," he said.
Tiomkin suggests that to alleviate the problem, residents must use more public transportation or two-wheeled vehicles, such as bicycles or scooters. The city is currently developing 100 km of bike paths, and plans are underway for an underground railway that will travel from Petah Tikva to Bat Yam, slated for completion in 2012.
He noted that the municipality has taken measures to alleviate the parking problem in recent years. Tel Aviv residents can now park in several Tel Aviv lots for half- price and purchase an Easy Park electronic parking meter that allows them to park for up to three hours for 63 agorot per hour, down from NIS 2.40 in the past. On the other hand, fines for several parking violations were more than doubled in August 2004. Tiomkin explains that the hike was a preventive measure meant to discourage illegal parking.
While the Easy Park and permit zoning have made life easier for some residents, the parking issue continues to anger Tel Aviv drivers, and parking remains a thorn in city life, especially when one NIS 500 parking ticket constitutes almost 10% of the average Israeli's salary.
Building more legal and inexpensive parking lots in the city center does not appear to be at the top of the municipal agenda. Tiomkin pointed out that the city has proposed building underground parking lots beneath Rabin Square and the Habimah Theater in the past, but local residents' objections stymied the projects.
Free parking, he says, is not an automatic right.
"When you buy a car, you also pay for insurance and gas, and that's okay - so why not pay for parking?"
Outside the courthouse Moshe, still peeved by his verdict, thinks that free parking is not a privilege but a necessity like electricity and water. He suggests civil disobedience to counter what he believes is a big money-making scheme.
He acknowledges that laws should protect people but insists that tickets should not be given in circumstances where parking defined as "illegal" presents no danger or inconvenience.
"Parking should be a top priority of anyone in office because it angers everyone," says Jerusalem resident, Ami, who often drives into Tel Aviv. While he also faces parking challenges in the capital, he acknowledges that the situation is much worse in Tel Aviv.
"Everyone talks about it and everyone's angry. If someone speeds dangerously on the highway, you know they deserve to be punished. But if you park for just a few minutes longer than you're supposed to, you know they just want your money," he says.
(BOX #1) Parking tips
* Know the parking rules and read signs carefully.
* If you think the parking space is illegal, it probably is. Find a lot.
* Don't rely on the ticketing officer's compassion or common sense.
* If you appeal a ticket, base your argument on law, not common sense or emotion, unless you can cite very unusual circumstances. Bear in mind that a court hearing may take up an entire afternoon.
* Before you go to court, write a diplomatic letter to the parking and traffic department (22 Rehov Sha'arit Yisrael, Tel Aviv-Jaffa 68165)
* Don't count on the situation improving in the near future. Parking annoyances are often a matter of tough luck and are part of city life.
NIS 100 violations: Metered parking without voucher or Easy Park, in preferred parking for permit holders, double- parking, parking near/on an intersection or crosswalk, or in a way that obstructs/delays traffic.
NIS 250 violations: Parking in a bus or taxi station, "No stopping" or "No parking" areas, against specifically posted instructions or with two wheels on the sidewalk.
NIS 500 violations: Parking with four wheels on a sidewalk or two wheels on a sidewalk, leaving less than 130 cm clear for pedestrians, or in a space reserved for handicapped parking.
(BOX #2) Gross mismanagement
Municipal practices have been brought to public attention in recent months by the probe into parking lot owner Reuven Gross, nicknamed "The King of Parking," who is accused of bribing city officials.
In June, Gross was arrested for involvement in a crime organization. The police accused him of money laundering, forgery and bribery. The well-connected businessman is suspected of bribing city officials for information that would help him secure tenders issued by the municipal park lot company, Ahuzat Hof.
Ahuzat Hof CEO Yaakov Meir, city councilor Yeshayahu Drori and Gross's daughter Maya were also arrested in connection with the affair.
The case has also involved the mayors of Ramat Gan, Haifa, and Tel Aviv. The police claim to have enough evidence to indict Bar, and his file has been handed to the state prosecutor. Haifa Mayor Yona Yahav and Tel Aviv Mayor Ron Huldai were questioned under caution as to whether they received perks from Gross in exchange for political donations. Gross contributed to Huldai's 1998 election campaign.
In late November, the parking lot company Hatzlacha, which owns dozens of lots throughout the country, succeeded over Gross in winning an Ahuzat Hof tender to operate five large car parks in Tel Aviv. Gross had placed his bid for the tenders via a third party.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Tel Aviv royal hangout
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; November 25, 2005
Those who think Tel Aviv nightlife is bereft of Jewish identity need only visit the Jewish Princess on the corner of Yehuda HaLevi and Betzalel Yaffe. The bar's not far from the Lilienblum bar compound, yet isolated enough that visitors don't feel like they're on a Tel Aviv pub crawl.
While the interior of the bar hardly gives away the Jewish pride of its Zionist owners, it was named Jewish Princess in part because, according to them, only in the Jewish state can a bar get away with such a name.
It would be hard to identify a stereotypical Jewish princess sitting at the central rectangular bar - where a shelf of prime liquors hangs over pretty barkeepers - since most of the clientele are Tel Aviv bargoers with a taste for the trendy, alternative and even a little goth. Every night a DJ spins electronic grooves that contribute to the intimate, sexy feel of the place, which also has a lounge area for private parties.
Its tolerant and homey environment would make any 25+ Jewish princess feel welcome, as long as she doesn't mind laser-cut wall-reliefs that form a flowery design from afar, but upon closer examination reveal human bodies in a variety of positions that would make a Hebrew school teacher blush.
Small chandeliers carefully crafted by Bezalel graduates contribute sparks of yellow to an otherwise nocturnal bar, which also serves a tasty (non-kosher) selection of salads, cheeses and sandwiches.
Jewish Princess is a spot for the Jewess who likes a little irony, and who seeks a non-judgmental place where a closet Jewish prince just might be lurking.
Yehuda Halevi 67; Music: Freestyle; Hours: From 9:30 p.m. No cover.
Those who think Tel Aviv nightlife is bereft of Jewish identity need only visit the Jewish Princess on the corner of Yehuda HaLevi and Betzalel Yaffe. The bar's not far from the Lilienblum bar compound, yet isolated enough that visitors don't feel like they're on a Tel Aviv pub crawl.
While the interior of the bar hardly gives away the Jewish pride of its Zionist owners, it was named Jewish Princess in part because, according to them, only in the Jewish state can a bar get away with such a name.
It would be hard to identify a stereotypical Jewish princess sitting at the central rectangular bar - where a shelf of prime liquors hangs over pretty barkeepers - since most of the clientele are Tel Aviv bargoers with a taste for the trendy, alternative and even a little goth. Every night a DJ spins electronic grooves that contribute to the intimate, sexy feel of the place, which also has a lounge area for private parties.
Its tolerant and homey environment would make any 25+ Jewish princess feel welcome, as long as she doesn't mind laser-cut wall-reliefs that form a flowery design from afar, but upon closer examination reveal human bodies in a variety of positions that would make a Hebrew school teacher blush.
Small chandeliers carefully crafted by Bezalel graduates contribute sparks of yellow to an otherwise nocturnal bar, which also serves a tasty (non-kosher) selection of salads, cheeses and sandwiches.
Jewish Princess is a spot for the Jewess who likes a little irony, and who seeks a non-judgmental place where a closet Jewish prince just might be lurking.
Yehuda Halevi 67; Music: Freestyle; Hours: From 9:30 p.m. No cover.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Tel Aviv A GoGo (review)
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; November 18, 2005
'Whisky A GoGo' is the name of one of the first ever discotheques, which opened in Paris in 1947. Since then, other clubs and music venues have usurped the name, with a Whisky A GoGo seemingly in every major city: London, Los Angeles and now Tel Aviv.
Don't be fooled by the name, though. The Tel Aviv version, which opened two months ago on the grounds of the now defunct port nightclub TLV, is its own breed.
Its name is one thing that differentiates it from other lounge bars in the city, like Ehrlich, Velvet and Rivendell. 'We see the name as something mythological,' says Shai Davidoff, one of the owners.
The large center bar, nestled underneath a large red chandelier, is usually packed with a Tel Aviv crowd aged 25 and older. Those at the bar came before there was a line at the entrance, are friends with the owners or had whatever it took to earn the bouncers' approval. Surrounding the bar are several luxury sofas for groups looking more to eat and socialize than to do pick-ups or be picked up. The menu features seafood dishes, salads and elegant wraps. Some bar-goers find room to dance to the fun, MTV-style music between the bar and sofas.
Since the bar's opening, a lot of Israeli 'celebs' have passed through its doors. Blame it on the mythological name, but in the past few weeks, high-level businessmen and diplomats have also been visiting. There was Stanley Gold, manager of Disney Investments, and the Israeli ambassador to London, Zvi Hefetz. Whisky A GoGo is where TV 'Bachelor' Ari Goldman made his first public appearance with his chosen one, Neta.
But Whiskey A GoGo offers a fun, glamorous environment even for more average folk, who at the very least must know how to dress. Reservations are recommended for large groups.
The Old Tel Aviv Port; Hours: From 9 pm; Phone: 054- 560-2262, 03-544-0633
'Whisky A GoGo' is the name of one of the first ever discotheques, which opened in Paris in 1947. Since then, other clubs and music venues have usurped the name, with a Whisky A GoGo seemingly in every major city: London, Los Angeles and now Tel Aviv.
Don't be fooled by the name, though. The Tel Aviv version, which opened two months ago on the grounds of the now defunct port nightclub TLV, is its own breed.
Its name is one thing that differentiates it from other lounge bars in the city, like Ehrlich, Velvet and Rivendell. 'We see the name as something mythological,' says Shai Davidoff, one of the owners.
The large center bar, nestled underneath a large red chandelier, is usually packed with a Tel Aviv crowd aged 25 and older. Those at the bar came before there was a line at the entrance, are friends with the owners or had whatever it took to earn the bouncers' approval. Surrounding the bar are several luxury sofas for groups looking more to eat and socialize than to do pick-ups or be picked up. The menu features seafood dishes, salads and elegant wraps. Some bar-goers find room to dance to the fun, MTV-style music between the bar and sofas.
Since the bar's opening, a lot of Israeli 'celebs' have passed through its doors. Blame it on the mythological name, but in the past few weeks, high-level businessmen and diplomats have also been visiting. There was Stanley Gold, manager of Disney Investments, and the Israeli ambassador to London, Zvi Hefetz. Whisky A GoGo is where TV 'Bachelor' Ari Goldman made his first public appearance with his chosen one, Neta.
But Whiskey A GoGo offers a fun, glamorous environment even for more average folk, who at the very least must know how to dress. Reservations are recommended for large groups.
The Old Tel Aviv Port; Hours: From 9 pm; Phone: 054- 560-2262, 03-544-0633
Thursday, November 3, 2005
Oy Veygas
November 3, 2005
Click here for original
Forget low-season hotel packages. Forget high-roller comps. Forget time sharing. The best deal for me in Vegas was not at the Venetian, Bellagio or Caesar's Palace. It was in Desert Shores, about 12 miles from the strip, in the fast-growing Vegas Jewish community.
Luckily -- since luck is the name of the game here -- a good friend of mine, Jennifer, had invited me to spend Shabbat with her family in this idyllic, red-roofed suburban enclave. I got a great, free room in her large, two-story home, a huge step above her old place in Tarzana.
"My condo in Tarzana was appraised at more than double the original price, which at that time was the price of a beautiful home in Vegas," said Jennifer, explaining part of the logic behind the family's move two years ago.
It's more than just cheaper real estate that prompted Jennifer, her husband, her kids, her parents and other Jewish families to try their luck in Vegas. She also likes an up-and-coming Jewish community that is less institutionalized and much cozier.
"It's just more open," she said. "People don't judge you for your religious levels. You can feel comfortable in your own skin. There are a lot of Jews from different walks of life. You'd think there would be a whole bunch of wierdos, but they're not."
It seems only natural that people near "sin city" would have more open religious attitudes, but Sukkot was the real test for Jennifer, who considers herself Modern Orthodox.
"Sukkot was always great with my family in L.A., and I was afraid I wasn't going to enjoy it in Vegas. But every single night there was a party at someone else's house. Rabbis went sukkah hopping with kids. I had dozens of kids in my sukkah," she said.
Shabbat under Jennifer's desert sukkah was among the friendliest and liveliest I've experienced in a long time. She had 30 people over, most of them young couples with kids.
I spent most of my time talking to the only other single there, Yoni, who works as a manager at a major hotel.
He pointed out that there are many influential Jews in local business and politics. Jews helped to create Vegas, and they continue to develop it. Sheldon Adelson owns the Venetian Hotel; Steve Wynn recently completed his $2.8 billion Wynn Resort; the Greenspun family owns major Vegas media outlets; Oscar Goodman is the mayor; and Shelly Berkeley is a Vegas congresswoman.
And Yoni is an Orange County transplant who loves Vegas.
"You get the big city on Las Vegas Boulevard, and then you drive 10 minutes away to the middle of suburbia," he said. Still, "Sometimes it's tough to meet a 'nice Jewish girl' in Vegas because there aren't that many Jewish singles here."
Jennifer's brother, Richie, had better luck. He hit the jackpot and married a beautiful Israeli woman. According to some estimates, there are about 8,000 Israelis in Vegas, almost 10 percent of the rapidly rising Jewish population, which stands roughly at 80,000.
Jennifer's husband, Jeff, said that once construction on a new two-story, $4 million synagogue is complete in his neighborhood, more Jews will come out of the woodwork. Congregants currently daven at a makeshift storefront synagogue, and nearby is a neighborhood pub/casino, a lakefront French restaurant and a day spa. One shul member pre-orders massages and spends Shabbat afternoon at the spa. The first Jewish community high school is in the works, thanks in part to a $25 million donation from the Adelson family.
Jennifer and her husband hope that the new synagogue will attract out-of-towners looking to buy a home near the shul. You see, Jennifer's betting her chips on real estate. She and her husband, who holds a law degree, each have obtained a real estate license.
But there is only so much Shabbat that one can handle in Vegas. Jennifer and I scored when a shul member we met at a Shabbat lunch got us free Saturday night tickets for the $120-per-seat Cirque De Soleil show at the Wynn. As a marketing director for various Strip venues, she also got on the guest list of Bellagio's exclusive nightclub, Light.
On our night out, we lost $45 between us.
After a night of drinking and dancing at Light, I couldn't help but wonder what will happen when the children of all these Vegas Jewish families hit puberty.
"In every town that you move to, there's always the possibility kids will fall to temptation," Jennifer said. "It all depends on the values they learn. It's no different than keeping them away from the Sunset Strip."
Click here for original
Forget low-season hotel packages. Forget high-roller comps. Forget time sharing. The best deal for me in Vegas was not at the Venetian, Bellagio or Caesar's Palace. It was in Desert Shores, about 12 miles from the strip, in the fast-growing Vegas Jewish community.
Luckily -- since luck is the name of the game here -- a good friend of mine, Jennifer, had invited me to spend Shabbat with her family in this idyllic, red-roofed suburban enclave. I got a great, free room in her large, two-story home, a huge step above her old place in Tarzana.
"My condo in Tarzana was appraised at more than double the original price, which at that time was the price of a beautiful home in Vegas," said Jennifer, explaining part of the logic behind the family's move two years ago.
It's more than just cheaper real estate that prompted Jennifer, her husband, her kids, her parents and other Jewish families to try their luck in Vegas. She also likes an up-and-coming Jewish community that is less institutionalized and much cozier.
"It's just more open," she said. "People don't judge you for your religious levels. You can feel comfortable in your own skin. There are a lot of Jews from different walks of life. You'd think there would be a whole bunch of wierdos, but they're not."
It seems only natural that people near "sin city" would have more open religious attitudes, but Sukkot was the real test for Jennifer, who considers herself Modern Orthodox.
"Sukkot was always great with my family in L.A., and I was afraid I wasn't going to enjoy it in Vegas. But every single night there was a party at someone else's house. Rabbis went sukkah hopping with kids. I had dozens of kids in my sukkah," she said.
Shabbat under Jennifer's desert sukkah was among the friendliest and liveliest I've experienced in a long time. She had 30 people over, most of them young couples with kids.
I spent most of my time talking to the only other single there, Yoni, who works as a manager at a major hotel.
He pointed out that there are many influential Jews in local business and politics. Jews helped to create Vegas, and they continue to develop it. Sheldon Adelson owns the Venetian Hotel; Steve Wynn recently completed his $2.8 billion Wynn Resort; the Greenspun family owns major Vegas media outlets; Oscar Goodman is the mayor; and Shelly Berkeley is a Vegas congresswoman.
And Yoni is an Orange County transplant who loves Vegas.
"You get the big city on Las Vegas Boulevard, and then you drive 10 minutes away to the middle of suburbia," he said. Still, "Sometimes it's tough to meet a 'nice Jewish girl' in Vegas because there aren't that many Jewish singles here."
Jennifer's brother, Richie, had better luck. He hit the jackpot and married a beautiful Israeli woman. According to some estimates, there are about 8,000 Israelis in Vegas, almost 10 percent of the rapidly rising Jewish population, which stands roughly at 80,000.
Jennifer's husband, Jeff, said that once construction on a new two-story, $4 million synagogue is complete in his neighborhood, more Jews will come out of the woodwork. Congregants currently daven at a makeshift storefront synagogue, and nearby is a neighborhood pub/casino, a lakefront French restaurant and a day spa. One shul member pre-orders massages and spends Shabbat afternoon at the spa. The first Jewish community high school is in the works, thanks in part to a $25 million donation from the Adelson family.
Jennifer and her husband hope that the new synagogue will attract out-of-towners looking to buy a home near the shul. You see, Jennifer's betting her chips on real estate. She and her husband, who holds a law degree, each have obtained a real estate license.
But there is only so much Shabbat that one can handle in Vegas. Jennifer and I scored when a shul member we met at a Shabbat lunch got us free Saturday night tickets for the $120-per-seat Cirque De Soleil show at the Wynn. As a marketing director for various Strip venues, she also got on the guest list of Bellagio's exclusive nightclub, Light.
On our night out, we lost $45 between us.
After a night of drinking and dancing at Light, I couldn't help but wonder what will happen when the children of all these Vegas Jewish families hit puberty.
"In every town that you move to, there's always the possibility kids will fall to temptation," Jennifer said. "It all depends on the values they learn. It's no different than keeping them away from the Sunset Strip."
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Celebs Stick to Their Tzedakah Box Job
The Jewish Journal; October 13, 2005
Click here for original
Frankie Muniz, star of the TV show, "Malcolm in the Middle," had little idea what he was making as he glued colored cotton balls and beads onto a metallic container with a slot on top.
Muniz, who isn't Jewish, knew it had something to do with "Living Generously," the theme of a Hurricane Katrina (and Rita) benefit in late September at the refurbished Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. The event, at the newly hip hotel, drew more than 400 people, many of them well-known or up-and-coming industry people: actors, writers, musicians, and comedians.
When it was explained to Muniz (by this reporter) that the metallic container was a tzedakah box, a traditional way for Jews to collect charity, everything clicked.
"My fiancee and I were in New Orleans when the hurricane hit, so we'll do anything we can to get the city back on its feet," he said, as his fiancee, Jamie, sat next to him, gluing away industriously. Each wore the "Live Generously" blue bracelet handed out to guests.
You could say that no major A-listers were present, but some bigger names donated tzedakah boxes that were on display. They were later auctioned off on eBay.
These donated boxes came from the likes of Regis Philbin, Kelly Ripa, Gabe Kaplan, Isaac Mizrahi and recent Emmy Award-winner William Shatner. Even Donald Trump donated a box.
The boxes were on display near a giant metallic tzedakah box, where guests could drop donations.
Live and in person, Jonathan Silverman and Lisa Loeb sat together at the arts and crafts table, recalling their Jewish day school days. Kellie Martin of "Life Goes On" fame sat nearby, also painting and gluing. Scott Weinger, also known as the voice of Disney's Aladdin, showed up later with his girlfriend.
"I don't think I've actually decorated a tzedakah box since I was a kid. It's a little nostalgic -- makes giving fun," said Loeb, facetiously adding: "I think this is a secret excuse for single people to get together."
With hundreds of stylish, good-looking singles -- Jewish and non-Jewish -- socializing by the open bar, she had a point. The fundraiser had the atmosphere of a young Hollywood society meat market and networking affair.
"We're definitely here for the cause and not for the free drinks," stand-up comedian Christina Walkinshaw told The Journal.
The Tuesday night fete was organized by United Jewish Communities (UJC), in cooperation with The Jewish Federation of Los Angeles. UJC, the national umbrella for 155 North American Jewish federations, enlisted the support of Evan Lowenstein of the Orthodox pop duo, Evan and Jaron, to help pull things together.
For the past several months, Lowenstein has gotten Hollywood celebs together for monthly lunches dedicated to a specific charity. At last look, the UJC Disaster Relief Fund had raised about $17 million for hurricane victims.
Loeb performed two songs, including her debut hit, "Stay," and Evan and Jaron played their hit, "Crazy for This Girl," joined by saxophonist Dave Koz.
Other performers included comedian and "Stacked" actor Elon Gold, who was also emcee for the night; Dan Levy of MTV's "The Reality Show"; and Bob Saget. Some off-color jokes would not have passed muster with a Jewish modesty committee.
"Because of the audience, it was okay. I thought I wasn't going to go too 'blue,' and then I hit the stage and that's what it was," Saget told The Journal.
Known for his portrayal of TV dad Danny Tanner on "Full-House," Saget entertained the audience with his satiric diddy "Danny Tanner Was Not Gay."
OK, that was something they never covered in Jewish day school.
Click here for original
Frankie Muniz, star of the TV show, "Malcolm in the Middle," had little idea what he was making as he glued colored cotton balls and beads onto a metallic container with a slot on top.
Muniz, who isn't Jewish, knew it had something to do with "Living Generously," the theme of a Hurricane Katrina (and Rita) benefit in late September at the refurbished Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. The event, at the newly hip hotel, drew more than 400 people, many of them well-known or up-and-coming industry people: actors, writers, musicians, and comedians.
When it was explained to Muniz (by this reporter) that the metallic container was a tzedakah box, a traditional way for Jews to collect charity, everything clicked.
"My fiancee and I were in New Orleans when the hurricane hit, so we'll do anything we can to get the city back on its feet," he said, as his fiancee, Jamie, sat next to him, gluing away industriously. Each wore the "Live Generously" blue bracelet handed out to guests.
You could say that no major A-listers were present, but some bigger names donated tzedakah boxes that were on display. They were later auctioned off on eBay.
These donated boxes came from the likes of Regis Philbin, Kelly Ripa, Gabe Kaplan, Isaac Mizrahi and recent Emmy Award-winner William Shatner. Even Donald Trump donated a box.
The boxes were on display near a giant metallic tzedakah box, where guests could drop donations.
Live and in person, Jonathan Silverman and Lisa Loeb sat together at the arts and crafts table, recalling their Jewish day school days. Kellie Martin of "Life Goes On" fame sat nearby, also painting and gluing. Scott Weinger, also known as the voice of Disney's Aladdin, showed up later with his girlfriend.
"I don't think I've actually decorated a tzedakah box since I was a kid. It's a little nostalgic -- makes giving fun," said Loeb, facetiously adding: "I think this is a secret excuse for single people to get together."
With hundreds of stylish, good-looking singles -- Jewish and non-Jewish -- socializing by the open bar, she had a point. The fundraiser had the atmosphere of a young Hollywood society meat market and networking affair.
"We're definitely here for the cause and not for the free drinks," stand-up comedian Christina Walkinshaw told The Journal.
The Tuesday night fete was organized by United Jewish Communities (UJC), in cooperation with The Jewish Federation of Los Angeles. UJC, the national umbrella for 155 North American Jewish federations, enlisted the support of Evan Lowenstein of the Orthodox pop duo, Evan and Jaron, to help pull things together.
For the past several months, Lowenstein has gotten Hollywood celebs together for monthly lunches dedicated to a specific charity. At last look, the UJC Disaster Relief Fund had raised about $17 million for hurricane victims.
Loeb performed two songs, including her debut hit, "Stay," and Evan and Jaron played their hit, "Crazy for This Girl," joined by saxophonist Dave Koz.
Other performers included comedian and "Stacked" actor Elon Gold, who was also emcee for the night; Dan Levy of MTV's "The Reality Show"; and Bob Saget. Some off-color jokes would not have passed muster with a Jewish modesty committee.
"Because of the audience, it was okay. I thought I wasn't going to go too 'blue,' and then I hit the stage and that's what it was," Saget told The Journal.
Known for his portrayal of TV dad Danny Tanner on "Full-House," Saget entertained the audience with his satiric diddy "Danny Tanner Was Not Gay."
OK, that was something they never covered in Jewish day school.
Friday, August 5, 2005
Good lounging on Lilienblum
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; August 5, 2005
Recently built upon the ruins of the Ays, Tel Aviv's hottest underground dance bar in its heyday, Lima Lima is nothing like its departed predecessor. It's a sophisticated lounge bar - with an emphasis on the lounging.
Unlike most bars in the Lilienblum bar compound, which cramp crowds by the center bar, Lima Lima is based on custom-made leather sofas, generously sprawled throughout, where groups of friends and couples can lounge, sit, chill, relax - and talk. The decor - olive and brick colored accessories, flowery wallpaper, paintings with subtle sexual references, a medicine cabinet in the bathroom - and the rich liquor menu, create the feeling of some warm, inviting mafia living room in South America or Mexico.
Lima Lima was designed by Tel Aviv design-duo Roy Roth and Yaal Tevet (Roth-Tevet Designs), whose claim to fame is Haoman 17 (Jerusalem and Haifa branches) and other Tel Aviv hot-spots. Specializing in creating leisure experiences, the duo didn't want to create just another loud, hectic pick-up bar, where it's hard to get intimate on more than just the physical level, although there's room for that at Lima Lima as well.
'We sought to create a space where people can take their time with each other,' said Roth. The music, coming from a DJ station centralized against a wall lined with stream rocks, is of the groove that allows for casual lingering and deep conversation.
And like any well-to-do home, there is also an outdoor patio, invested with luscious tropical plants and a water cascade surrounding the pastel-colored patio furniture spread over a wooden planked floor.
But unlike any good home, there is no large kitchen or rich food menu, which proposes a challenge to hard-core lounging. There is only so much one can drink without having someone serve a variety of finger foods or some other home-made munchies that satiate other basic appetites.
No cover. Lilienblum 42, (03) 560-0924. Hours: From 9:30 p.m. Music: Eclectic, electronic, world
Recently built upon the ruins of the Ays, Tel Aviv's hottest underground dance bar in its heyday, Lima Lima is nothing like its departed predecessor. It's a sophisticated lounge bar - with an emphasis on the lounging.
Unlike most bars in the Lilienblum bar compound, which cramp crowds by the center bar, Lima Lima is based on custom-made leather sofas, generously sprawled throughout, where groups of friends and couples can lounge, sit, chill, relax - and talk. The decor - olive and brick colored accessories, flowery wallpaper, paintings with subtle sexual references, a medicine cabinet in the bathroom - and the rich liquor menu, create the feeling of some warm, inviting mafia living room in South America or Mexico.
Lima Lima was designed by Tel Aviv design-duo Roy Roth and Yaal Tevet (Roth-Tevet Designs), whose claim to fame is Haoman 17 (Jerusalem and Haifa branches) and other Tel Aviv hot-spots. Specializing in creating leisure experiences, the duo didn't want to create just another loud, hectic pick-up bar, where it's hard to get intimate on more than just the physical level, although there's room for that at Lima Lima as well.
'We sought to create a space where people can take their time with each other,' said Roth. The music, coming from a DJ station centralized against a wall lined with stream rocks, is of the groove that allows for casual lingering and deep conversation.
And like any well-to-do home, there is also an outdoor patio, invested with luscious tropical plants and a water cascade surrounding the pastel-colored patio furniture spread over a wooden planked floor.
But unlike any good home, there is no large kitchen or rich food menu, which proposes a challenge to hard-core lounging. There is only so much one can drink without having someone serve a variety of finger foods or some other home-made munchies that satiate other basic appetites.
No cover. Lilienblum 42, (03) 560-0924. Hours: From 9:30 p.m. Music: Eclectic, electronic, world
Thursday, August 4, 2005
Tsfat Nourishes the Spiritually Hungry
The Jewish Journal; August 4, 2005
Click here for original article
As I climbed the green Galilean hills of Tsfat to reach the family hosting me for Shabbat, I wondered how it had changed since the last time I was in Israel's mystical city.
I was here to visit with the Lipshutz family. They had moved here 12 years ago and are currently active in building programs and events to call attention to Tsfat's power and beauty, both physical and spiritual. The town's kabbalist past drew Madonna, who made a prayer stop of this prophesized center for the beginning of redemption.
When I first arrived here a decade ago, there was nothing "special" or "spiritual" about the experience, unless eating fish heads dipped in mayonnaise is considered a transcendent ritual.
Back then I was a seminary student, studying in Tsfat's sister city of Jerusalem. My friend, Mya, and I were set up at the home of an elderly modern Orthodox couple for Shabbat, a common practice for seminary girls who quest that "special" and "spiritual" Shabbat experience.
Tsfat is supposed to be a place to commune with God, to experience an awakening, to have prayers answered. My teachers touted it as the home of spiritual seekers and leaders -- from the patriarch Jacob who studied at the yeshiva of Shem and Ever, to the great 16th century kabbalist Rabbi Yitzhak Luria (the Arizal), to contemporary artists drawing inspiration from the historic city.
All we ended up praying for was to get out of the apartment we were staying in, which was as inspirational as a "Golden Girls" rerun.
We snuck out, with Mya wearing torn jeans as a ruse to attract some religious guru seeking to bring us closer to God. We roamed the streets of Tsfat, walking through stone alleyways like two lost dogs hungry for spiritual inspiration -- and a decent meal.
We took solace in ornate gates painted in mystical blue, peeked through the doors of ancient synagogues and read names on the tombstones of women whose lives must have been more simple and spiritual than ours.
It wasn't long before our search finally came to an end. We happened upon a modern Orthodox couple sitting in their balcony who noticed Mya's jeans and invited us in.
Not only did they feed us, but they told us what we wanted to hear. They explained that contrary to what many of our rabbis taught, Judaism demanded that we be good people first, and that religious practice should come at our own pace.
Convinced we'd found the answers we'd come to seek in Tsfat, we returned to our elderly hosts, spiritually and physically sated.
"Tsfat has always been somewhat esoteric," said Talya Lipshutz, head of the new program, Access Tsfat, and my host. "Tourists came to view the historic sites and to buy art, but they never dug deep enough to unlock the spiritual power of the city -- to be healed, informed and uplifted."
Lipshutz is hoping to change that with Access Tsfat, a program open to anyone -- singles, families, Jews and non-Jews -- who seek to draw inspiration from the city. The wife and mother of eight is working with the Nachal Novea Tsfat Fund to revitalize the city as a tourist destination by easing visitors' spiritual and physical search and offering Shabbat hospitality.
Access Tsfat provides a variety of tracks to explore the city and its surrounding area. Weekday half-day tracks offer an in-depth look at the city, with walking tours of historic synagogues, the artist colony and its ancient cemetery; visits to Galilean landmarks; classes in history, Judaism, mysticism and Chasidut, as well as arts and crafts for kids.
An outdoor track called Northern Xtreme will provide visitors with a totally new perspective of Tsfat. Licensed Breslov Chasidic guides lead tourists in rappelling and hiking in the caves, mountains and valleys of the Upper Galilee.
"But probably the most important experience will be Shabbat hospitality. You can't really get a whole feel for Tsfat without being here for Shabbat," Lipshutz said.
Compared with my last visit, this Tsfat experience was handed to me on a silver platter. A great Shabbat meal, handheld walks on the ancient steps and deep discussions about Madonna's spark of holiness.
Had Lipshutz's program been in place 10 years ago, I would have been spared a lot of heartache. But as I read in a book on kabbalah, true spiritual meaning is often achieved through suffering.
So while Access Tsfat is an ideal way to begin a trek through this city, no one should fear exploring its alleyways alone or with a friend. Look beyond the city's blue gates when visiting, and up to the blue sky. For it's there you'll find the hidden treasures of the city -- and of the heart.
Access Tsfat tracks are slated for Aug. 18-22 and coincide with the second annual klezmer festival being held in Tsfat from Aug. 15-22. For more useful information on Tsfat and Access Tsfat, visit www.tsfat.com.
Click here for original article
As I climbed the green Galilean hills of Tsfat to reach the family hosting me for Shabbat, I wondered how it had changed since the last time I was in Israel's mystical city.
I was here to visit with the Lipshutz family. They had moved here 12 years ago and are currently active in building programs and events to call attention to Tsfat's power and beauty, both physical and spiritual. The town's kabbalist past drew Madonna, who made a prayer stop of this prophesized center for the beginning of redemption.
When I first arrived here a decade ago, there was nothing "special" or "spiritual" about the experience, unless eating fish heads dipped in mayonnaise is considered a transcendent ritual.
Back then I was a seminary student, studying in Tsfat's sister city of Jerusalem. My friend, Mya, and I were set up at the home of an elderly modern Orthodox couple for Shabbat, a common practice for seminary girls who quest that "special" and "spiritual" Shabbat experience.
Tsfat is supposed to be a place to commune with God, to experience an awakening, to have prayers answered. My teachers touted it as the home of spiritual seekers and leaders -- from the patriarch Jacob who studied at the yeshiva of Shem and Ever, to the great 16th century kabbalist Rabbi Yitzhak Luria (the Arizal), to contemporary artists drawing inspiration from the historic city.
All we ended up praying for was to get out of the apartment we were staying in, which was as inspirational as a "Golden Girls" rerun.
We snuck out, with Mya wearing torn jeans as a ruse to attract some religious guru seeking to bring us closer to God. We roamed the streets of Tsfat, walking through stone alleyways like two lost dogs hungry for spiritual inspiration -- and a decent meal.
We took solace in ornate gates painted in mystical blue, peeked through the doors of ancient synagogues and read names on the tombstones of women whose lives must have been more simple and spiritual than ours.
It wasn't long before our search finally came to an end. We happened upon a modern Orthodox couple sitting in their balcony who noticed Mya's jeans and invited us in.
Not only did they feed us, but they told us what we wanted to hear. They explained that contrary to what many of our rabbis taught, Judaism demanded that we be good people first, and that religious practice should come at our own pace.
Convinced we'd found the answers we'd come to seek in Tsfat, we returned to our elderly hosts, spiritually and physically sated.
"Tsfat has always been somewhat esoteric," said Talya Lipshutz, head of the new program, Access Tsfat, and my host. "Tourists came to view the historic sites and to buy art, but they never dug deep enough to unlock the spiritual power of the city -- to be healed, informed and uplifted."
Lipshutz is hoping to change that with Access Tsfat, a program open to anyone -- singles, families, Jews and non-Jews -- who seek to draw inspiration from the city. The wife and mother of eight is working with the Nachal Novea Tsfat Fund to revitalize the city as a tourist destination by easing visitors' spiritual and physical search and offering Shabbat hospitality.
Access Tsfat provides a variety of tracks to explore the city and its surrounding area. Weekday half-day tracks offer an in-depth look at the city, with walking tours of historic synagogues, the artist colony and its ancient cemetery; visits to Galilean landmarks; classes in history, Judaism, mysticism and Chasidut, as well as arts and crafts for kids.
An outdoor track called Northern Xtreme will provide visitors with a totally new perspective of Tsfat. Licensed Breslov Chasidic guides lead tourists in rappelling and hiking in the caves, mountains and valleys of the Upper Galilee.
"But probably the most important experience will be Shabbat hospitality. You can't really get a whole feel for Tsfat without being here for Shabbat," Lipshutz said.
Compared with my last visit, this Tsfat experience was handed to me on a silver platter. A great Shabbat meal, handheld walks on the ancient steps and deep discussions about Madonna's spark of holiness.
Had Lipshutz's program been in place 10 years ago, I would have been spared a lot of heartache. But as I read in a book on kabbalah, true spiritual meaning is often achieved through suffering.
So while Access Tsfat is an ideal way to begin a trek through this city, no one should fear exploring its alleyways alone or with a friend. Look beyond the city's blue gates when visiting, and up to the blue sky. For it's there you'll find the hidden treasures of the city -- and of the heart.
Access Tsfat tracks are slated for Aug. 18-22 and coincide with the second annual klezmer festival being held in Tsfat from Aug. 15-22. For more useful information on Tsfat and Access Tsfat, visit www.tsfat.com.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Laser Heart Surgery
The Jewish Journal; May 26, 2005
Click here for original
My only decent pair of glasses broke en route from Los Angeles to Israel, and I took it as a sign -- it was time to for corrective laser surgery, a.k.a. LASIK.
"Make sure on the day of surgery someone comes with you," the Israeli receptionist said to me after I set my appointment.
Great. Who would I call on to come with me? If I lived in Los Angeles, someone in my family would have shepherded me. But I wasn't comfortable asking my family in Israel to escort me.
Since I'd be wearing eye patches after the surgery, I'd at least need someone to pick me up. And since I'd be done at 4 p.m., I asked my friend Tovy to leave work an hour early to pick me up. She said it was no problem.
The surgery day arrived. As I waited on the sofa in the main office, I saw a young woman leave the surgery room with her eyes covered, her boyfriend holding her hand, guiding her.
How nice, I thought. He'll probably make her tea when she gets home and sing her a lullaby.
I don't need anyone, I thought. However, I did need a valium, and lucky for me it was procedure to give patients one before the surgery.
The nurse sat me down outside the surgery room and dropped an anesthetic into my eyes. I saw the blurred image of a teenager across from me.
He had just had his eyes zapped.
"How was it?" I asked.
"Scary," he said.
"Really?" I asked, surprised.
The doctors, technicians and receptionists all made it sound like the surgery was simple, quick and painless.
Then his father took his hand and led him out. That's OK, I thought to myself. I still didn't need anyone to hold my hand.
When it was my turn on the operating table, the doctor pried my eyelids open with a metal tool and then stuck some sort of lens onto my eye.
"You shouldn't see anything now," he said. "That's normal."
A round cylinder latched onto the lens and mechanically cut a flap on my cornea; this created a window for the laser to enter. As the machine cut my cornea, I saw black and white circles, as if it were twisting and turning my eyeball.
He repeated this procedure on the other eye. I dug my fingers into my thighs to channel the pain elsewhere.
"Now, we are moving onto the laser portion of the surgery," the doctor said. "This will be less painful."
"You mean it's not over?" I asked.
"Almost."
I stared above and green and red dots of light seemed to shower my bullied eyes. As the laser sculpted my cornea to perfection, I heard a buzz and felt hot splatters my cheeks.
Done but dazed, I limped to a reclining chair in a post-op waiting area.
"Keep your eyes closed," the nurse said. "Is someone here with you?"
"She's supposed to come," I said.
It was 4:15 p.m. and no sign of Tovy.
Unable to look outside, I looked deep inside: Wouldn't it be nice to have a dedicated boyfriend right now? A real partner? Why have I shut out love for so long? Wouldn't life in Israel be easier if I opened myself up to love -- not just a romantic thrill -- but to a supportive, loving man who will hold my hand in times like these?
Where the hell is Tovy?
Tears started gushing down my face. They were supposed to be a natural side-effect of the surgery, but they seemed exacerbated by my momentary, stinging sensation of loneliness.
"Tears are pouring," I told the nurse.
"Excellent," she said. "Make yourself cry."
This was one of those rare moments when it's good for your physical health to bawl.
Tovy had trouble finding the office. When she finally arrived, she held my hand and comforted me. The tears continued to stream, but they had transformed from tears of loneliness to tears of healing. I had my health, I had good friends and I no longer had four eyes.
Maybe now that my eyes are fixed I'll be able to envision a true and lasting romance. But it will probably take more than 10 minutes with a laser beam to smooth out my heart's irregularities. And yet as I begin to see the world and myself more clearly, I think maybe it'd be nice to have someone hold my hand and, sometimes, wipe my tears.
Click here for original
My only decent pair of glasses broke en route from Los Angeles to Israel, and I took it as a sign -- it was time to for corrective laser surgery, a.k.a. LASIK.
"Make sure on the day of surgery someone comes with you," the Israeli receptionist said to me after I set my appointment.
Great. Who would I call on to come with me? If I lived in Los Angeles, someone in my family would have shepherded me. But I wasn't comfortable asking my family in Israel to escort me.
Since I'd be wearing eye patches after the surgery, I'd at least need someone to pick me up. And since I'd be done at 4 p.m., I asked my friend Tovy to leave work an hour early to pick me up. She said it was no problem.
The surgery day arrived. As I waited on the sofa in the main office, I saw a young woman leave the surgery room with her eyes covered, her boyfriend holding her hand, guiding her.
How nice, I thought. He'll probably make her tea when she gets home and sing her a lullaby.
I don't need anyone, I thought. However, I did need a valium, and lucky for me it was procedure to give patients one before the surgery.
The nurse sat me down outside the surgery room and dropped an anesthetic into my eyes. I saw the blurred image of a teenager across from me.
He had just had his eyes zapped.
"How was it?" I asked.
"Scary," he said.
"Really?" I asked, surprised.
The doctors, technicians and receptionists all made it sound like the surgery was simple, quick and painless.
Then his father took his hand and led him out. That's OK, I thought to myself. I still didn't need anyone to hold my hand.
When it was my turn on the operating table, the doctor pried my eyelids open with a metal tool and then stuck some sort of lens onto my eye.
"You shouldn't see anything now," he said. "That's normal."
A round cylinder latched onto the lens and mechanically cut a flap on my cornea; this created a window for the laser to enter. As the machine cut my cornea, I saw black and white circles, as if it were twisting and turning my eyeball.
He repeated this procedure on the other eye. I dug my fingers into my thighs to channel the pain elsewhere.
"Now, we are moving onto the laser portion of the surgery," the doctor said. "This will be less painful."
"You mean it's not over?" I asked.
"Almost."
I stared above and green and red dots of light seemed to shower my bullied eyes. As the laser sculpted my cornea to perfection, I heard a buzz and felt hot splatters my cheeks.
Done but dazed, I limped to a reclining chair in a post-op waiting area.
"Keep your eyes closed," the nurse said. "Is someone here with you?"
"She's supposed to come," I said.
It was 4:15 p.m. and no sign of Tovy.
Unable to look outside, I looked deep inside: Wouldn't it be nice to have a dedicated boyfriend right now? A real partner? Why have I shut out love for so long? Wouldn't life in Israel be easier if I opened myself up to love -- not just a romantic thrill -- but to a supportive, loving man who will hold my hand in times like these?
Where the hell is Tovy?
Tears started gushing down my face. They were supposed to be a natural side-effect of the surgery, but they seemed exacerbated by my momentary, stinging sensation of loneliness.
"Tears are pouring," I told the nurse.
"Excellent," she said. "Make yourself cry."
This was one of those rare moments when it's good for your physical health to bawl.
Tovy had trouble finding the office. When she finally arrived, she held my hand and comforted me. The tears continued to stream, but they had transformed from tears of loneliness to tears of healing. I had my health, I had good friends and I no longer had four eyes.
Maybe now that my eyes are fixed I'll be able to envision a true and lasting romance. But it will probably take more than 10 minutes with a laser beam to smooth out my heart's irregularities. And yet as I begin to see the world and myself more clearly, I think maybe it'd be nice to have someone hold my hand and, sometimes, wipe my tears.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Enemy Ties
The Jewish Journal; March 24, 2005
Click here for original
I hadn't been to a Tel Aviv bar for a while, and I was craving one. I had recently returned from a vacation to Los Angeles, where there were no worthwhile singles bars. Last call for alcohol in Los Angeles is 2 a.m., and a good Jewish girl like me prefers to pick up and be picked up by Jewish men.
That's why Eliezer, a new bar on Ben Yehuda Street, was a relief for me and also for my friend, Tali, who had just returned from her native Melbourne. Inhaling the smoky air and swaying to the rock music, we reveled in the dozens of masculine men around us.
"Welcome to Israel," we proudly toasted. "Where you know the men in the bars are Jewish."
A beer and two vodka shots later, I let my guard down and scoped the scene, looking for hot prospects. Gradually a group of short, stubby men surrounded us. I sighed. None of them had been on my radar, but, nevertheless, we all danced and laughed and flirted.
Suddenly, a man in a gray shirt and gray tie walked in. I was not particularly attracted to him, but I noticed that his tie was practically strangling him. I gestured to him to take it off. We were in a bar, not a conference room.
Tali and I continued to dance and flirt, and the man in the tie passed us by, stiff-necked. I motioned to him again to take the thing off.
Finally, we headed out to go salsa dancing, and I noticed the man in the tie had taken it off and began waving it like a flag, signaling me over.
"Congratulations," I said. "That's much better."
"Where are you from?" he said in an unidentifiable accent.
"I'm from Israel, but originally from L.A.," I said. "Where are you from?"
"I'm Palestinian."
"Oh," I said. "Palestinian."
No wonder he wore a tie to a bar. Israelis just don't do that.
"Are you Jewish?" he asked.
"I'm very Jewish," I said proudly.
There I was. Face to face with the enemy, in a Tel Aviv bar. I immediately recalled the Stage nightclub bombing in Tel Aviv a week earlier, and I looked for a backpack strapped to his waist, but he was strapless. I was safe, but I couldn't help but provoke confrontation. I wasn't about to be fake or polite or cordial just because he was Palestinian. A Tel Aviv bar, to me, did not provide sanctuary.
"You know, I'm very right wing," I said.
I didn't think he understood what I said or what I meant, or maybe he didn't want a bar brawl, because he ignored my comment and instead asked me where I lived.
I almost made myself more explicit by adding: "If I were a soldier with a gun, and this were a battle line, I would shoot you. By the way, I entertain the idea of transfer."
But I stopped myself. This was a bar, I reasoned. He wasn't the enemy, he was a descendant of Abraham who wanted to break Islamic law and have a drink. I had to respect him for that. So I dropped the politics and told him I lived in Tel Aviv.
"Israeli women are hotter than Palestinian women, aren't they?" I said, trying to find some common ground.
"No, no."
"Why, do you like it when they are covered from head to toe, with those veils?"
"Well, women in Ramallah are not so hot. Yes, Israelians are hot," he said awkwardly.
It seemed like that was the first time he used "hot" in that context.
I told him I had to go, and he presented his tie and said: "For you."
"What?" I said. "I can't take this."
At first, I felt bad. It looked expensive, and don't most Palestinians live in dire poverty?
Then I thought about the implications: I take this tie, and my hands are tied. I'd forever have to remember that one night a Palestinian gave me an expensive tie, and that he was nice to me. I'd have to question all my stereotypes and generalizations, and recognize that there are good, normal, generous Palestinians who just want peace, who just want to be my friend, who just want some fun.
I couldn't take the tie.
But then I looked down at its elegant striped pattern. It would look smashing with a white tank and hip hugging jeans, I thought. He insisted, so I gracefully accepted.
"Thank you," I said, smiling, and blew him a kiss.
As we sauntered out, Tali, a pro-peace activist, said, "You see, they're not all bad. You'll switch sides."
"Hmm," I said. "Maybe."
As long as I felt good and stylish with the tie on, I couldn't resent the fashion benefactor or his people.
I woke up the next morning, both me and the tie hungover in bed, alone.
I glared at it, frightened. Is this the first step toward my own private reconciliation with the Palestinians? If I keep it, is it a personal symbol of possible peace? Or should I just burn the thing?
Eventually, I hung it in my closet as the accessory that will forever go down in my wardrobe as "the tie the Palestinian gave me." It's not an enemy tie I'm ready to make, but it's an enemy tie I'm ready to wear.
A friend told me that wearing a tie is a proven pick-up technique. It worked well for Abbas. Maybe it'll work for me.
I'll wear it next time I go to a bar. And when I do, I'll use it to pick up and tie up a hot Jewish Israeli man, and I'll have a Palestinian to thank for it.
Maybe then we could start talking about reconciliation.
Click here for original
I hadn't been to a Tel Aviv bar for a while, and I was craving one. I had recently returned from a vacation to Los Angeles, where there were no worthwhile singles bars. Last call for alcohol in Los Angeles is 2 a.m., and a good Jewish girl like me prefers to pick up and be picked up by Jewish men.
That's why Eliezer, a new bar on Ben Yehuda Street, was a relief for me and also for my friend, Tali, who had just returned from her native Melbourne. Inhaling the smoky air and swaying to the rock music, we reveled in the dozens of masculine men around us.
"Welcome to Israel," we proudly toasted. "Where you know the men in the bars are Jewish."
A beer and two vodka shots later, I let my guard down and scoped the scene, looking for hot prospects. Gradually a group of short, stubby men surrounded us. I sighed. None of them had been on my radar, but, nevertheless, we all danced and laughed and flirted.
Suddenly, a man in a gray shirt and gray tie walked in. I was not particularly attracted to him, but I noticed that his tie was practically strangling him. I gestured to him to take it off. We were in a bar, not a conference room.
Tali and I continued to dance and flirt, and the man in the tie passed us by, stiff-necked. I motioned to him again to take the thing off.
Finally, we headed out to go salsa dancing, and I noticed the man in the tie had taken it off and began waving it like a flag, signaling me over.
"Congratulations," I said. "That's much better."
"Where are you from?" he said in an unidentifiable accent.
"I'm from Israel, but originally from L.A.," I said. "Where are you from?"
"I'm Palestinian."
"Oh," I said. "Palestinian."
No wonder he wore a tie to a bar. Israelis just don't do that.
"Are you Jewish?" he asked.
"I'm very Jewish," I said proudly.
There I was. Face to face with the enemy, in a Tel Aviv bar. I immediately recalled the Stage nightclub bombing in Tel Aviv a week earlier, and I looked for a backpack strapped to his waist, but he was strapless. I was safe, but I couldn't help but provoke confrontation. I wasn't about to be fake or polite or cordial just because he was Palestinian. A Tel Aviv bar, to me, did not provide sanctuary.
"You know, I'm very right wing," I said.
I didn't think he understood what I said or what I meant, or maybe he didn't want a bar brawl, because he ignored my comment and instead asked me where I lived.
I almost made myself more explicit by adding: "If I were a soldier with a gun, and this were a battle line, I would shoot you. By the way, I entertain the idea of transfer."
But I stopped myself. This was a bar, I reasoned. He wasn't the enemy, he was a descendant of Abraham who wanted to break Islamic law and have a drink. I had to respect him for that. So I dropped the politics and told him I lived in Tel Aviv.
"Israeli women are hotter than Palestinian women, aren't they?" I said, trying to find some common ground.
"No, no."
"Why, do you like it when they are covered from head to toe, with those veils?"
"Well, women in Ramallah are not so hot. Yes, Israelians are hot," he said awkwardly.
It seemed like that was the first time he used "hot" in that context.
I told him I had to go, and he presented his tie and said: "For you."
"What?" I said. "I can't take this."
At first, I felt bad. It looked expensive, and don't most Palestinians live in dire poverty?
Then I thought about the implications: I take this tie, and my hands are tied. I'd forever have to remember that one night a Palestinian gave me an expensive tie, and that he was nice to me. I'd have to question all my stereotypes and generalizations, and recognize that there are good, normal, generous Palestinians who just want peace, who just want to be my friend, who just want some fun.
I couldn't take the tie.
But then I looked down at its elegant striped pattern. It would look smashing with a white tank and hip hugging jeans, I thought. He insisted, so I gracefully accepted.
"Thank you," I said, smiling, and blew him a kiss.
As we sauntered out, Tali, a pro-peace activist, said, "You see, they're not all bad. You'll switch sides."
"Hmm," I said. "Maybe."
As long as I felt good and stylish with the tie on, I couldn't resent the fashion benefactor or his people.
I woke up the next morning, both me and the tie hungover in bed, alone.
I glared at it, frightened. Is this the first step toward my own private reconciliation with the Palestinians? If I keep it, is it a personal symbol of possible peace? Or should I just burn the thing?
Eventually, I hung it in my closet as the accessory that will forever go down in my wardrobe as "the tie the Palestinian gave me." It's not an enemy tie I'm ready to make, but it's an enemy tie I'm ready to wear.
A friend told me that wearing a tie is a proven pick-up technique. It worked well for Abbas. Maybe it'll work for me.
I'll wear it next time I go to a bar. And when I do, I'll use it to pick up and tie up a hot Jewish Israeli man, and I'll have a Palestinian to thank for it.
Maybe then we could start talking about reconciliation.
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