Jewish Journal; April 12, 2007
Click here for original
By the sixth day of Passover, some devoted matzah eaters might look at the bread of affliction as just that -- an affliction of their taste buds and digestion.
Members of the Moveable Minyan, a Westside lay-led, egalitarian congregation, freed themselves from enslavement to matzah on Sunday by answering the seder's "fifth" question: What can you do with matzah aside from eating it?
Their idea: Build a matzah pyramid.
"People at the seder say matzah tastes like cardboard anyway," said Edmon Rodman, the pyramid visionary and head taskmaster. "Here's an appropriate way to see if it acts like cardboard."
Rodman, a developer of children's toys and pop-up books, put together a method to transform matzahs into building materials. (He figures the patent is probably worth about "three jars of gefilte fish.") An M-shaped steel clip ("M" for matzah) fastens two matzah pieces at the top edges so they form stackable triangular blocks that can be layered atop one another, like a house of cards.
The idea for the edible pyramid, which is likely the first of its kind, dawned on him while his mind wandered during a seder last year. A search revealed no previous attempts to build a matzah pyramid.
It's highly questionable whether or not Jews actually built the Egyptian pyramids, but Rodman sees the construction as fulfilling the mitzvah of retelling the Exodus.
"You say at the seder you're supposed to be b'nai chorin [free men]. Here you have an activity to do it," he said.
About a dozen Moveable Minyan members exerted their flour power at the parking lot of the Jewish Institute of Education on Third Street, home of the Minyan, to put Rodman's engineering plan to the test. They encountered a few structural difficulties, which Rodman attributes to "matzah irregularities." Next time they might consider using charoset as an extra sealant.
The pyramid design called for eight tiers using 100 standard pieces of matzah, with eight triangular blocks on the bottom, seven above it, then six, and so on. After about an hour of trial and error, during which the second layer of matzahs kept falling down like dominoes, the congregants readjusted the plan to create a pyramid standing 4-feet high that consisted of seven layers of 80 matzahs.
Moveable Minyan member Herb Hecht, an electrical engineer, happened to be on hand to offer advice: "You first have to maintain balance between the two uprights and the clip and, of course, to prevent outward forces from pushing the matzah in. This is the same principle that goes into the construction of European cathedrals."
The debate arose as to whether or not the pyramid violated the prohibition of ba'al tashchit, or wasting food. Someone suggested the matzah debris be donated to the homeless, to which Minyan member Pini Herman offered, "They'd use it for shelter."
Someone suggested eating the pyramid layer by layer. For Rodman, the educational and artistic value of the pyramid justifies a few discarded matzahs.
When the pyramid was finished, Rodman simply flicked the bottom layer until it all came tumbling down.
So what happened to the matzah?
"Some people ate some of the matzah, they threw broken pieces away, and people took the rest home," Rodman said.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Out of Africa (restaurant review)
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; April 12, 2007
Habash, the new ethiopian Kosher restaurant, offers bewilderment for the taste buds and a not-so-small dose of culture shock.
With an interior designed to look like a village hut - yet decorated with LCD monitors ! -, Habash seeks to make Ethiopian cuisine and culture accessible to both tourists and sabras. The result is a blend of raucous ethnic celebration and - how should I say this? - unpredictable food.
Opened a couple of months ago by Emanuel Hadana, Habash gets its name from the Hebrew form of Abyssinia, the old name for Ethiopia and parts of modern-day Eritrea.
Hadana, a lawyer by profession, looks at his restaurant not so much as a business, but as a way to showcase his community.
Though his heart is definitely in the right place, Hadana's lack of experience in the food industry can be felt in Habash's patchy, haphazard service. Then again, someone in a generous mood might think that it all adds to the charm of the place - as if the diner were joining an Ethiopian family for a home-cooked meal.
I, however, was very hungry.
I began my meal with a yellowish liquor called teaj. Made from the extract of the indigenous Ethiopian gesho leaf, teaj has a coarse texture but a gentle honey-wine flavor. It went down smoothly - which is more than I can say for the next dish: the injera bread. This pancake-like bread made from teff flour should come with a label that reads, "Warning! This tastes like sour sponge."
"Be brave," the waitress said, when she noticed my bewilderment. At first, I thought the bread - or whatever was in it - was spoiled, but no, my waitress assured me that her mother's injera tastes the same way. It's just that injera is not supposed to be eaten alone, but together with the main course.
So I ordered the combination plate, an array of hearty dips and stews served in small bowls and, as per tradition, was instructed to pour the contents onto the bread. I felt like an artist squeezing paint on to a palette.
And just when I recovered from the shock of the sour bread - bam! - the yesega key wot, a peppery beef dish, seared my tongue. Luckily, there was still some teaj leftover.
As I proceeded, I discovered that not all the well-spiced dishes jolted the taste buds. Using both my fork and my fingers - incorrectly, I'm sure - I try the gomen wot. The dish of steamed vegetables tinged with olive oil acted like a balm for my shocked Mediterranean palette.
Next came the kik alicha, a lentil dish which tastes like Indian cuisine.
But in the end, none of the little dishes satisfied me as a meal, so I focused more on the experience of being at Habash - and that it was.
Before dessert arrived, an Ethiopian bassist, piper, and drummer took the stage and performed reggae-like songs. The band was quickly joined by a beautiful dancing duo, and Habash turned rather festive as a group of college-age American tourists tried to copy the traditional movements.
No doubt, that night was a memorable Israel experience for them.
When dessert arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief. That's because the traditional Ethiopian dessert, angocha, tastes like sweet halla roll. Finally, normal flour!
I ordered a coffee, but eventually lost all hope of it ever being delivered to the table. Where did they bring the coffee beans from? Ethiopia?
As I packed up to leave, I noticed that the majority of customers were Ethiopian. One group of friends, apparently celebrating a birthday, took their seats and a woman pulled out a supermarket-bought chocolate cake from a plastic bag. Enough said.
Habash, Allenby 2, (Herbert Samuel Blvd). Around NIS 70 for a meal. (077-210-0181). Kosher.
Habash, the new ethiopian Kosher restaurant, offers bewilderment for the taste buds and a not-so-small dose of culture shock.
With an interior designed to look like a village hut - yet decorated with LCD monitors ! -, Habash seeks to make Ethiopian cuisine and culture accessible to both tourists and sabras. The result is a blend of raucous ethnic celebration and - how should I say this? - unpredictable food.
Opened a couple of months ago by Emanuel Hadana, Habash gets its name from the Hebrew form of Abyssinia, the old name for Ethiopia and parts of modern-day Eritrea.
Hadana, a lawyer by profession, looks at his restaurant not so much as a business, but as a way to showcase his community.
Though his heart is definitely in the right place, Hadana's lack of experience in the food industry can be felt in Habash's patchy, haphazard service. Then again, someone in a generous mood might think that it all adds to the charm of the place - as if the diner were joining an Ethiopian family for a home-cooked meal.
I, however, was very hungry.
I began my meal with a yellowish liquor called teaj. Made from the extract of the indigenous Ethiopian gesho leaf, teaj has a coarse texture but a gentle honey-wine flavor. It went down smoothly - which is more than I can say for the next dish: the injera bread. This pancake-like bread made from teff flour should come with a label that reads, "Warning! This tastes like sour sponge."
"Be brave," the waitress said, when she noticed my bewilderment. At first, I thought the bread - or whatever was in it - was spoiled, but no, my waitress assured me that her mother's injera tastes the same way. It's just that injera is not supposed to be eaten alone, but together with the main course.
So I ordered the combination plate, an array of hearty dips and stews served in small bowls and, as per tradition, was instructed to pour the contents onto the bread. I felt like an artist squeezing paint on to a palette.
And just when I recovered from the shock of the sour bread - bam! - the yesega key wot, a peppery beef dish, seared my tongue. Luckily, there was still some teaj leftover.
As I proceeded, I discovered that not all the well-spiced dishes jolted the taste buds. Using both my fork and my fingers - incorrectly, I'm sure - I try the gomen wot. The dish of steamed vegetables tinged with olive oil acted like a balm for my shocked Mediterranean palette.
Next came the kik alicha, a lentil dish which tastes like Indian cuisine.
But in the end, none of the little dishes satisfied me as a meal, so I focused more on the experience of being at Habash - and that it was.
Before dessert arrived, an Ethiopian bassist, piper, and drummer took the stage and performed reggae-like songs. The band was quickly joined by a beautiful dancing duo, and Habash turned rather festive as a group of college-age American tourists tried to copy the traditional movements.
No doubt, that night was a memorable Israel experience for them.
When dessert arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief. That's because the traditional Ethiopian dessert, angocha, tastes like sweet halla roll. Finally, normal flour!
I ordered a coffee, but eventually lost all hope of it ever being delivered to the table. Where did they bring the coffee beans from? Ethiopia?
As I packed up to leave, I noticed that the majority of customers were Ethiopian. One group of friends, apparently celebrating a birthday, took their seats and a woman pulled out a supermarket-bought chocolate cake from a plastic bag. Enough said.
Habash, Allenby 2, (Herbert Samuel Blvd). Around NIS 70 for a meal. (077-210-0181). Kosher.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Engaging with the disengaged (movie review)
Jerusalem Post, Daily; April 11, 2007
A documentary that showcases the experience of evacuated Gush Katif settlers premieres in Los Angeles to skeptical local reviews
The full-feature documentary, Withdrawal from Gaza, is a straightforward, moving narrative of the unilateral Israeli disengagement from the Gaza Strip in August 2005. The film is resourcefully shot, edited, and marketed, but lacks a glaringly original angle, except for one: In an industry known for its antipathy towards Israel's presence in the West Bank and Gaza, Withdrawal from Gaza goes against the general pro-Palestinian line and offers a sympathetic portrait of the Gush Katif settlers.
After a showing at the Laemmle movie theater in Encino, California, where the film made its theatrical premiere on March 23, the film's co-director and executive producer Joel Blasberg told The Jerusalem Post that he didn't intend the film to serve as hasbara (public relations) for the Gush Katif settlers' plight.
'I don't think it's particularly pro-settler, it portrays what happened there,' he said.
Blasberg is a long-time Hollywood writer and producer for television and film, but this is his first documentary. He traveled to Israel months before the disengagement to chronicle this pivotal event in Jewish history. A self-proclaimed 'very pro-Israel Zionist' who served in the Israeli army in the early '70s, Blasberg geared the documentary as 'a portrayal that was favorable to Israel because I thought most films wouldn't be.'
He expected the largely liberal media and film industry to hone in on settlers as 'wide-eyed fanatics,' as did one foreign TV documentary which followed a particularly hawkish Gush Katif resident. Withdrawal From Gaza interviews relatable, down-to-earth Gush Katif residents, including an injured Israeli war veteran, a doctor, a zookeeper, a widow, and a farmer, who describe at eye-level their reasons for settling in Gush Katif, their love for the region, their tragedies, and their fears, hopes and faith.
Blasberg is not surprised that his humane portraits elicited some criticism from local critics, such as the Los Angeles Times reviewer who lamented the omission of 'any serious criticism of the settlers, whether from the Jewish left or any Palestinian point of view' and the LA Weekly reviewer who described the film as 'carefully skewed toward likable, reasonable evacuees littered with shots of weeping soldiers who find their mission unbearable.'
'If you show a film showing the Palestinian side,' says Blasberg of such comments, 'you wouldn't find a newspaper in American calling it pro-Palestinian propaganda. They'll say it's a film about Palestinian suffering.'
While Blasberg claims the film is apolitical, a disengagement documentary can't help but be politically-charged. Classic right-wing arguments are sprinkled throughout the film through settler cautions and through an interview with former chief of General Staff Lt.-Gen. (res.) Moshe 'Boogie' Ya'alon, who asks: 'How did we get to this point that it's legitimate to evacuate Jews and not legitimate to evacuate Arabs?'
The only real, token leftist voice is that of the military governor of Gaza from 1979-81, who calls the settlers 'colonialists' and says 'we need to look upon this evacuation not with tears - only with joy. Israel will revert back to being a rational Zionist country and will cease being messianic.'
Another interview with an evacuating soldier who remains steadfast in his mission gives the film an aura of balance, although Blasberg could have probably maximized the political power and passion of the film had he abandoned this seemingly begrudged effort at impartiality. But in that case, it's likely the film would have been labeled 'propaganda' and unworthy of the critical attention and media coverage it has received.
The film premiered at the Israeli Film Festival in Los Angeles, with April screenings to follow at the Beverly Hills Film Festival, Santa Cruz Film Festival and Lenore Marwin Jewish Film Festival in Detroit, where it will receive the award for best directors.
A documentary that showcases the experience of evacuated Gush Katif settlers premieres in Los Angeles to skeptical local reviews
The full-feature documentary, Withdrawal from Gaza, is a straightforward, moving narrative of the unilateral Israeli disengagement from the Gaza Strip in August 2005. The film is resourcefully shot, edited, and marketed, but lacks a glaringly original angle, except for one: In an industry known for its antipathy towards Israel's presence in the West Bank and Gaza, Withdrawal from Gaza goes against the general pro-Palestinian line and offers a sympathetic portrait of the Gush Katif settlers.
After a showing at the Laemmle movie theater in Encino, California, where the film made its theatrical premiere on March 23, the film's co-director and executive producer Joel Blasberg told The Jerusalem Post that he didn't intend the film to serve as hasbara (public relations) for the Gush Katif settlers' plight.
'I don't think it's particularly pro-settler, it portrays what happened there,' he said.
Blasberg is a long-time Hollywood writer and producer for television and film, but this is his first documentary. He traveled to Israel months before the disengagement to chronicle this pivotal event in Jewish history. A self-proclaimed 'very pro-Israel Zionist' who served in the Israeli army in the early '70s, Blasberg geared the documentary as 'a portrayal that was favorable to Israel because I thought most films wouldn't be.'
He expected the largely liberal media and film industry to hone in on settlers as 'wide-eyed fanatics,' as did one foreign TV documentary which followed a particularly hawkish Gush Katif resident. Withdrawal From Gaza interviews relatable, down-to-earth Gush Katif residents, including an injured Israeli war veteran, a doctor, a zookeeper, a widow, and a farmer, who describe at eye-level their reasons for settling in Gush Katif, their love for the region, their tragedies, and their fears, hopes and faith.
Blasberg is not surprised that his humane portraits elicited some criticism from local critics, such as the Los Angeles Times reviewer who lamented the omission of 'any serious criticism of the settlers, whether from the Jewish left or any Palestinian point of view' and the LA Weekly reviewer who described the film as 'carefully skewed toward likable, reasonable evacuees littered with shots of weeping soldiers who find their mission unbearable.'
'If you show a film showing the Palestinian side,' says Blasberg of such comments, 'you wouldn't find a newspaper in American calling it pro-Palestinian propaganda. They'll say it's a film about Palestinian suffering.'
While Blasberg claims the film is apolitical, a disengagement documentary can't help but be politically-charged. Classic right-wing arguments are sprinkled throughout the film through settler cautions and through an interview with former chief of General Staff Lt.-Gen. (res.) Moshe 'Boogie' Ya'alon, who asks: 'How did we get to this point that it's legitimate to evacuate Jews and not legitimate to evacuate Arabs?'
The only real, token leftist voice is that of the military governor of Gaza from 1979-81, who calls the settlers 'colonialists' and says 'we need to look upon this evacuation not with tears - only with joy. Israel will revert back to being a rational Zionist country and will cease being messianic.'
Another interview with an evacuating soldier who remains steadfast in his mission gives the film an aura of balance, although Blasberg could have probably maximized the political power and passion of the film had he abandoned this seemingly begrudged effort at impartiality. But in that case, it's likely the film would have been labeled 'propaganda' and unworthy of the critical attention and media coverage it has received.
The film premiered at the Israeli Film Festival in Los Angeles, with April screenings to follow at the Beverly Hills Film Festival, Santa Cruz Film Festival and Lenore Marwin Jewish Film Festival in Detroit, where it will receive the award for best directors.
Tel Aviv school teaches singles how to date
Israel 21C and Jerusalem Post, Daily; April 11, 2007
Click here for original
Michal's story of dating frustration is undoubtedly common among singles in Israel.
"I'd often go out on dates and meet guys, hoping to create a relationship. I'm good-looking, smart, fun, communicative, but I'd end up alone," the 44-year old divorcee explained. "Then I noticed something in the system that didn't work. I wasn't doing something right."
The practitioner of Chinese medicine decided that she needed a little education in dating. This led her to Date School, the only psychotherapy-based dating program in Israel - and perhaps the world - which teaches people how to be more effective, self-aware, and informed daters.
Date School was developed by the Sexuality Center in Tel Aviv - a psychosexological clinic that treats couples and individuals with difficulties developing and maintaining healthy sexual relationships. The set of weekly workshops is conducted by center director Dr. Ilan Biran and cognitive-behavioral therapist Vered Merzer-Sapir, and it combines discussions and exercises that implement the center's cognitive-behavioral approach.
The 10-week pilot course opened last month to nine participants, who, throughout the course, are each assigned 'professional daters' - psychotherapists who simulate dates with the participants so that they can determine and study behaviors and actions that may contribute to their dating failure.
"There are many attempts to teach people how to date," Biran told ISRAEL21c from the couch-lined room where the workshops are held. "These efforts fail because... what works for one may not work for another."
Biran explained that the workshops teach that dating is an art, which first and foremost involves identifying the good in oneself and knowing how to market those assets.
"This can only be done with individual treatment. Second, there is no effective learning without practice and feedback, which is achieved best by dating a 'professional dater.'"
Prospective participants consist of professional, educated and intelligent singles who encounter problems in dating due to social anxiety, past experience, or plain bad luck.
Michal, the only female workshop participant, pinpoints her failures in part to her approach: she would always judge men based on superficial qualities, particularly appearance.
"I'm gaining the ability to get to know the soul of a man who can be a person of great quality, but who I wouldn't normally choose because he's bald, has a big nose, or a pot belly," she told ISRAEL21c.
She also discovered that, in part because of her free-flowing personality, she opens up excessively on the first date, often intimidating men with an overflow of information. "I've learned to limit myself on the first meeting, and open myself more at later dates."
Biran and Merzer-Sapir don't think there are any magic formulas or tips they can offer frustrated daters, but they point to common pitfalls and misconceptions.
"Many people, especially those who come to us, have a big dream about what they seek to find in a date," explains Biran. "Mainly, they come with the vision that they will find the love of their life. On the first date, he is already asking if this person will be the mother of his children. Even trying to do that will necessarily harm your behavior and/or your decision making...Concomitant with that is a lot of pressure to find happiness and love without compromising. I think it's a problem that only gets worse - they are in stress when they go out on dates to find their love, and it doesn't work."
Irena Netanel, a psychotherapist and one of the workshop's professional daters, slams another myth: "Many dates fail because they decide right away that it doesn't work because there is no chemistry."
A date, the professionals emphasize, is about getting to know another person - and oneself.
Michal has recently begun dating someone she met online whom she would have normally rejected prior to attending the workshop.
"When you give a chance and don't disqualify a guy who isn't so good looking, but who...is funny, smart, fun to be with and makes you feel good - then, you see something else, the other side of the soul. You can fall in love with a person like that."
Click here for original
Michal's story of dating frustration is undoubtedly common among singles in Israel.
"I'd often go out on dates and meet guys, hoping to create a relationship. I'm good-looking, smart, fun, communicative, but I'd end up alone," the 44-year old divorcee explained. "Then I noticed something in the system that didn't work. I wasn't doing something right."
The practitioner of Chinese medicine decided that she needed a little education in dating. This led her to Date School, the only psychotherapy-based dating program in Israel - and perhaps the world - which teaches people how to be more effective, self-aware, and informed daters.
Date School was developed by the Sexuality Center in Tel Aviv - a psychosexological clinic that treats couples and individuals with difficulties developing and maintaining healthy sexual relationships. The set of weekly workshops is conducted by center director Dr. Ilan Biran and cognitive-behavioral therapist Vered Merzer-Sapir, and it combines discussions and exercises that implement the center's cognitive-behavioral approach.
The 10-week pilot course opened last month to nine participants, who, throughout the course, are each assigned 'professional daters' - psychotherapists who simulate dates with the participants so that they can determine and study behaviors and actions that may contribute to their dating failure.
"There are many attempts to teach people how to date," Biran told ISRAEL21c from the couch-lined room where the workshops are held. "These efforts fail because... what works for one may not work for another."
Biran explained that the workshops teach that dating is an art, which first and foremost involves identifying the good in oneself and knowing how to market those assets.
"This can only be done with individual treatment. Second, there is no effective learning without practice and feedback, which is achieved best by dating a 'professional dater.'"
Prospective participants consist of professional, educated and intelligent singles who encounter problems in dating due to social anxiety, past experience, or plain bad luck.
Michal, the only female workshop participant, pinpoints her failures in part to her approach: she would always judge men based on superficial qualities, particularly appearance.
"I'm gaining the ability to get to know the soul of a man who can be a person of great quality, but who I wouldn't normally choose because he's bald, has a big nose, or a pot belly," she told ISRAEL21c.
She also discovered that, in part because of her free-flowing personality, she opens up excessively on the first date, often intimidating men with an overflow of information. "I've learned to limit myself on the first meeting, and open myself more at later dates."
Biran and Merzer-Sapir don't think there are any magic formulas or tips they can offer frustrated daters, but they point to common pitfalls and misconceptions.
"Many people, especially those who come to us, have a big dream about what they seek to find in a date," explains Biran. "Mainly, they come with the vision that they will find the love of their life. On the first date, he is already asking if this person will be the mother of his children. Even trying to do that will necessarily harm your behavior and/or your decision making...Concomitant with that is a lot of pressure to find happiness and love without compromising. I think it's a problem that only gets worse - they are in stress when they go out on dates to find their love, and it doesn't work."
Irena Netanel, a psychotherapist and one of the workshop's professional daters, slams another myth: "Many dates fail because they decide right away that it doesn't work because there is no chemistry."
A date, the professionals emphasize, is about getting to know another person - and oneself.
Michal has recently begun dating someone she met online whom she would have normally rejected prior to attending the workshop.
"When you give a chance and don't disqualify a guy who isn't so good looking, but who...is funny, smart, fun to be with and makes you feel good - then, you see something else, the other side of the soul. You can fall in love with a person like that."
Friday, March 16, 2007
Summing up the party
Jerusalem Post, In Jerusalem; March 16, 2007
Haoman 17 gave Tel Avivians a reason to travel to the Holy City and Jerusalemites to stay put
I remember when I first landed in Jerusalem about seven years ago from Los Angeles to make my life in Israel, I felt like something was missing. Maybe it's because I'm from LA, but I knew it was something glamorous, exciting, beautiful, wild and crazy. The Western Wall could only satisfy me so much.
Then I discovered Haoman 17. My friends told me the nightclub had an international reputation, which was hard for me to believe. How could a Jerusalem nightclub be so famous?
Then, when I first stepped into the club, I understood why. The massive dance floor, the sound system and the music were a step above what I had seen or heard before - and ah, and the people! So beautiful. Clubbing at Haoman was a ritual, an art and a holy endeavor.
Haoman was the only place in Jerusalem where I felt I could let loose on the dance floor, meet guys without too many strings attached, dress to kill and release all the pressures involved in making aliya. It was the secular haven for sassy Jerusalemites. It was a pocket of Tel Aviv in a city considered to be the metropolis's conservative opposite.
Some called it an escape, some a source of inspiration. For me, it was place of discovery - about Israeli society, Israeli people, music, dance and ultimately, myself.
My girlfriends and I would go almost every other week. This was our outlet, were we could feel beautiful, alive, sexy and even a little crazy. At Haoman I felt that anything was possible. Spirituality was found through physicality. In my freedom to dance, I could dream big about life in Israel.
So when I heard the news that Haoman 17 was closing as a nightclub and turning into a megabar, my reactions were of understanding, sadness, nostalgia and also relief.
Haoman 17 Jerusalem began to lose its edge at the start of the second intifada, when weekly terrorist attacks repelled trendy Tel Avivians from their favorite nightclub. Haoman gradually turned into a neighborhood club, and selection became less strict.
Foreign DJs weren't always keen on traveling to war-torn Israel - if the diminishing crowd could even justify their arrival. While the sound, the DJs, the innovative house music, the ever-changing design and the themed parties still made Haoman the most popular and pioneering club in Israel, the 'X factor' was disappearing.
Then, to add to the hard times created by the intifada, the Tax Authority raided the club on New Year's 2002. In a widely publicized scandal, the five original owners were accused of tax evasion, and a lengthy trial, which reached the Supreme Court, undoubtedly zapped some of their energy and concentration. They were convicted in 2005, received heavy fines and were sentenced to various prison terms of 10 to 18 months.
Up until their sentencing, however, the industriousness of the remaining owners did not seem to wane - but maybe misguidedly so. They decided to import the Haoman brand to Haifa and invested about $1 million to create a stunning nightclub in the Hadar region themed after a ship. The club set sail in early 2004 and, despite its beauty and impressiveness, it lasted only about a year and then mysteriously died - in part because of a shooting incident at the entrance.
According to Haifa locals versant in the Haifa nightlife scene, the ambitious club also didn't really attune itself to the mentality and going-out habits of the down-to-earth locals, who demanded less selection snobbery at the door and more affordable drinks and entrance fees.
Snobbery and price, however, didn't seem to bother the Tel Aviv night owls. Haoman 17 Tel Aviv opened in 2004 and quickly wiped out the competition, among them the TLV megaclub. While the Tel Aviv club continues to pack it in weekly and remains the only standing Haoman 17, it has yet to retain the glamour, uniqueness and magical vibe of Haoman 17 Jerusalem's early years.
But now that Haoman Jerusalem is turning into a megabar, and the visionary owner-in-chief, Ruben Lublin, will dedicate himself mostly to the Tel Aviv club, Haoman 17 Tel Aviv is poised to perpetuate Haoman 17's legendary name.
That is, unless the decline in the megaclub trend in Israel - the one that prompted the closing of Haoman Jerusalem - also affects the Tel Aviv branch.
But why mention only the negative? Haoman has its fair share of mighty accomplishments. It put Israel's name in European DJ and nightlife magazines. The club actually gave Tel Avivians a reason to travel to the Holy City and Jerusalemites to stay put. Haoman raised the standards of nightlife in all of Israel, and also that of accompanying industries - music, sound, lighting and fashion.
Haoman 17's farewell party last week was a throwback to the 'good old times.' Tension-building house music, the African-themed design, sex in the air (and possibly in the famous bathrooms), partyers from Tel Aviv and old-time owners and managers all made the farewell party one to remember. Grass (not the drug - the plant) was laid out in the entrance courtyard, which a bunch of partiers spilled onto at around 5 a.m., and the party continued until the afternoon.
It'll be strange for me to pass by Haoman now, and know that it no longer functions as a nightclub. I feel like a part (and party) of my early years in Israel has died. A piece of my influential, young and carefree Israeli experience has been buried.
But maybe that's why I'm relieved too. Haoman will always hold a special place in my heart and in the heart of so many Jerusalemites - for many it's the place where they tested their inhibitions. But now that I'm older and wiser, having settled more into Israel and also more into myself, Haoman is not my future, but my past - and I will look back at Haoman as a playground for my search to dance wildly, only so that I could eventually stand steadily.
Haoman 17 gave Tel Avivians a reason to travel to the Holy City and Jerusalemites to stay put
I remember when I first landed in Jerusalem about seven years ago from Los Angeles to make my life in Israel, I felt like something was missing. Maybe it's because I'm from LA, but I knew it was something glamorous, exciting, beautiful, wild and crazy. The Western Wall could only satisfy me so much.
Then I discovered Haoman 17. My friends told me the nightclub had an international reputation, which was hard for me to believe. How could a Jerusalem nightclub be so famous?
Then, when I first stepped into the club, I understood why. The massive dance floor, the sound system and the music were a step above what I had seen or heard before - and ah, and the people! So beautiful. Clubbing at Haoman was a ritual, an art and a holy endeavor.
Haoman was the only place in Jerusalem where I felt I could let loose on the dance floor, meet guys without too many strings attached, dress to kill and release all the pressures involved in making aliya. It was the secular haven for sassy Jerusalemites. It was a pocket of Tel Aviv in a city considered to be the metropolis's conservative opposite.
Some called it an escape, some a source of inspiration. For me, it was place of discovery - about Israeli society, Israeli people, music, dance and ultimately, myself.
My girlfriends and I would go almost every other week. This was our outlet, were we could feel beautiful, alive, sexy and even a little crazy. At Haoman I felt that anything was possible. Spirituality was found through physicality. In my freedom to dance, I could dream big about life in Israel.
So when I heard the news that Haoman 17 was closing as a nightclub and turning into a megabar, my reactions were of understanding, sadness, nostalgia and also relief.
Haoman 17 Jerusalem began to lose its edge at the start of the second intifada, when weekly terrorist attacks repelled trendy Tel Avivians from their favorite nightclub. Haoman gradually turned into a neighborhood club, and selection became less strict.
Foreign DJs weren't always keen on traveling to war-torn Israel - if the diminishing crowd could even justify their arrival. While the sound, the DJs, the innovative house music, the ever-changing design and the themed parties still made Haoman the most popular and pioneering club in Israel, the 'X factor' was disappearing.
Then, to add to the hard times created by the intifada, the Tax Authority raided the club on New Year's 2002. In a widely publicized scandal, the five original owners were accused of tax evasion, and a lengthy trial, which reached the Supreme Court, undoubtedly zapped some of their energy and concentration. They were convicted in 2005, received heavy fines and were sentenced to various prison terms of 10 to 18 months.
Up until their sentencing, however, the industriousness of the remaining owners did not seem to wane - but maybe misguidedly so. They decided to import the Haoman brand to Haifa and invested about $1 million to create a stunning nightclub in the Hadar region themed after a ship. The club set sail in early 2004 and, despite its beauty and impressiveness, it lasted only about a year and then mysteriously died - in part because of a shooting incident at the entrance.
According to Haifa locals versant in the Haifa nightlife scene, the ambitious club also didn't really attune itself to the mentality and going-out habits of the down-to-earth locals, who demanded less selection snobbery at the door and more affordable drinks and entrance fees.
Snobbery and price, however, didn't seem to bother the Tel Aviv night owls. Haoman 17 Tel Aviv opened in 2004 and quickly wiped out the competition, among them the TLV megaclub. While the Tel Aviv club continues to pack it in weekly and remains the only standing Haoman 17, it has yet to retain the glamour, uniqueness and magical vibe of Haoman 17 Jerusalem's early years.
But now that Haoman Jerusalem is turning into a megabar, and the visionary owner-in-chief, Ruben Lublin, will dedicate himself mostly to the Tel Aviv club, Haoman 17 Tel Aviv is poised to perpetuate Haoman 17's legendary name.
That is, unless the decline in the megaclub trend in Israel - the one that prompted the closing of Haoman Jerusalem - also affects the Tel Aviv branch.
But why mention only the negative? Haoman has its fair share of mighty accomplishments. It put Israel's name in European DJ and nightlife magazines. The club actually gave Tel Avivians a reason to travel to the Holy City and Jerusalemites to stay put. Haoman raised the standards of nightlife in all of Israel, and also that of accompanying industries - music, sound, lighting and fashion.
Haoman 17's farewell party last week was a throwback to the 'good old times.' Tension-building house music, the African-themed design, sex in the air (and possibly in the famous bathrooms), partyers from Tel Aviv and old-time owners and managers all made the farewell party one to remember. Grass (not the drug - the plant) was laid out in the entrance courtyard, which a bunch of partiers spilled onto at around 5 a.m., and the party continued until the afternoon.
It'll be strange for me to pass by Haoman now, and know that it no longer functions as a nightclub. I feel like a part (and party) of my early years in Israel has died. A piece of my influential, young and carefree Israeli experience has been buried.
But maybe that's why I'm relieved too. Haoman will always hold a special place in my heart and in the heart of so many Jerusalemites - for many it's the place where they tested their inhibitions. But now that I'm older and wiser, having settled more into Israel and also more into myself, Haoman is not my future, but my past - and I will look back at Haoman as a playground for my search to dance wildly, only so that I could eventually stand steadily.
Friday, March 9, 2007
A taste of the beer capital (bar review)
Jerusalem Post, Billbard; March 9, 2007
Jerusalem hosts the third pub in the ambitious Dublin chain
In a country where pubs have a shelf-life of about two years, entrepreneurs need a lot of guts to sign a 14-year lease. But when Gily Zabary and his partner Zion Lahav opened their third Dublin outlet - in the center of Jerusalem - they didn't intend to build a mere Irish pub, but an institution.
'There are pubs in Ireland that date back 800 years,' Zabary explains. He fell in love with Irish pubs during his travels to Dublin, the home of Guinness. 'I was amazed to see that people aged 40 and 50 hung out with 20- and 30-year-olds. What unites them is the beer.'
Surprisingly, Zabary doesn't have any Irish roots, and looks more Sephardic than European. Born to a Yemenite father and a German mother, he brought the warmth of the East and the exactness of the German Ashkenazim to his establishments.
Before building the first Dublin pub in his native Rehovot five years ago, Zabary worked for several months as a bartender in Ireland - a self-imposed internship. A second Dublin pub made its home in Herzliya two years ago, and Jerusalem became the next logical location. The capital, Zabary says, is the third-largest market for draft beer in Israel, behind Rehovot and Haifa.
It should be clear to anyone who walks into Dublin that the pub wasn't built as a passing fancy; a million-dollar investment made sure of that. Dublin's over-done design - high Gothic ceilings, thick wooden furniture, authentic Irish chandeliers and ornate stained glass - is more reminiscent of a flamboyant Disneyland ride than a cozy Irish pub. Sitting areas are divided into two categories: the knights' table for groups and 'snugs' for intimate encounters. No two dining areas are the same, so visitors can experience the pub differently every time.
Dublin is the kind of place where middle-aged couples can munch on finger food and throw back whiskey shots alongside 22-year-old guys mustering the courage required to approach a girl. To appeal to older crowds and reduce the smoky, 'pick-up' bar feel, the owners have invested NIS 400,000 in a smoke ventilation system, so bargoers don't leave for home with the scent of cigarette ashes on their clothes.
That Dublin has chosen to plaster ads on Egged buses demonstrates its broad market: everyone is invited - rich, poor, young and old. The only thing in which Dublin customers cannot be pedestrian is their taste in beer. Carlsberg and Heineken aren't considered respectable options at Dublin.
Beer consumption is a culture in Ireland, Zabary explains, with the many Irishmen drinking 15 pints a day. To boost the beer culture in Israel, Zabary focused on beer variety and professional preparation and presentation.
Beer kegs aren't located under the bar, as in most Israeli drinking establishments, but in a special refrigerated 'beer cellar' built to European standards. The beer reaches the taps through an elaborate system of underground pipes. The custom-made beer glasses are washed in a separate dishwasher to make sure they don't get contaminated with oil, milk or eggs, which can ruin the flavor and texture.
Dublin serves 18 kinds of beer on tap, some of them fruit-flavored. During off-hours, bartenders may offer samples in miniature two-inch mugs.
'The phrase 'beer is too bitter for me' no longer applies in Israel,' says Zabary. 'Israelis used to say that because they didn't know anything else.'
Dublin, Shamai 4, (02) 622-3612, Hours: daily from 5 p.m. - 3 a.m., Friday until 5 a.m. Musical line-up: Sunday: Eighties' Israeli music; Monday: Israeli and cover bands; Tuesday: Irish bands; Weekends: DJ Freestyle
Jerusalem hosts the third pub in the ambitious Dublin chain
In a country where pubs have a shelf-life of about two years, entrepreneurs need a lot of guts to sign a 14-year lease. But when Gily Zabary and his partner Zion Lahav opened their third Dublin outlet - in the center of Jerusalem - they didn't intend to build a mere Irish pub, but an institution.
'There are pubs in Ireland that date back 800 years,' Zabary explains. He fell in love with Irish pubs during his travels to Dublin, the home of Guinness. 'I was amazed to see that people aged 40 and 50 hung out with 20- and 30-year-olds. What unites them is the beer.'
Surprisingly, Zabary doesn't have any Irish roots, and looks more Sephardic than European. Born to a Yemenite father and a German mother, he brought the warmth of the East and the exactness of the German Ashkenazim to his establishments.
Before building the first Dublin pub in his native Rehovot five years ago, Zabary worked for several months as a bartender in Ireland - a self-imposed internship. A second Dublin pub made its home in Herzliya two years ago, and Jerusalem became the next logical location. The capital, Zabary says, is the third-largest market for draft beer in Israel, behind Rehovot and Haifa.
It should be clear to anyone who walks into Dublin that the pub wasn't built as a passing fancy; a million-dollar investment made sure of that. Dublin's over-done design - high Gothic ceilings, thick wooden furniture, authentic Irish chandeliers and ornate stained glass - is more reminiscent of a flamboyant Disneyland ride than a cozy Irish pub. Sitting areas are divided into two categories: the knights' table for groups and 'snugs' for intimate encounters. No two dining areas are the same, so visitors can experience the pub differently every time.
Dublin is the kind of place where middle-aged couples can munch on finger food and throw back whiskey shots alongside 22-year-old guys mustering the courage required to approach a girl. To appeal to older crowds and reduce the smoky, 'pick-up' bar feel, the owners have invested NIS 400,000 in a smoke ventilation system, so bargoers don't leave for home with the scent of cigarette ashes on their clothes.
That Dublin has chosen to plaster ads on Egged buses demonstrates its broad market: everyone is invited - rich, poor, young and old. The only thing in which Dublin customers cannot be pedestrian is their taste in beer. Carlsberg and Heineken aren't considered respectable options at Dublin.
Beer consumption is a culture in Ireland, Zabary explains, with the many Irishmen drinking 15 pints a day. To boost the beer culture in Israel, Zabary focused on beer variety and professional preparation and presentation.
Beer kegs aren't located under the bar, as in most Israeli drinking establishments, but in a special refrigerated 'beer cellar' built to European standards. The beer reaches the taps through an elaborate system of underground pipes. The custom-made beer glasses are washed in a separate dishwasher to make sure they don't get contaminated with oil, milk or eggs, which can ruin the flavor and texture.
Dublin serves 18 kinds of beer on tap, some of them fruit-flavored. During off-hours, bartenders may offer samples in miniature two-inch mugs.
'The phrase 'beer is too bitter for me' no longer applies in Israel,' says Zabary. 'Israelis used to say that because they didn't know anything else.'
Dublin, Shamai 4, (02) 622-3612, Hours: daily from 5 p.m. - 3 a.m., Friday until 5 a.m. Musical line-up: Sunday: Eighties' Israeli music; Monday: Israeli and cover bands; Tuesday: Irish bands; Weekends: DJ Freestyle
Beyond belief
Jerusalem Post, In Jerusalem; March 9, 2007
Click here for original
For many disillusioned haredim leaving their close-knit community is like moving to a foreign country.
'Who wants to make kiddush?' a long-haired man asks at the Friday night table, holding a kiddush cup.
There seem to be no takers, so he begins himself to say the blessing but stops somewhere in the middle when he realizes no one is really paying attention. 'Yalla!' he says, dismissively, cutting the kiddush short while everyone proceeds to eat the three-course, buffet-style Shabbat meal.
Once skipping kiddush would have been a sacrilege for almost everyone around the table. These days, making the choice is its own blessing. The men and women sitting at the table are all former haredim who broke out of their dogmatic, strict confines, on pain of excommunication, poverty and loneliness, to live in a world in which they can choose how to live.
For some, this kind of gathering is the closest they get to feeling like part of a family, says Rina Ofir, director of Hillel, a non-profit organization that helps former haredim adjust to mainstream, pluralistic Israeli life. 'They don't really have the chance to go to home on Friday nights.'
Most haredi defectors are immediately ejected from their homes once they appear at the family doorstep without peyot (sidelocks) or, in the case of women, without a modest skirt.
Two years ago, Hillel made communal Friday night dinners a tradition, alternating weekly between its Tel Aviv and Jerusalem branches. 'It's important for them to be together, for the food as well - for some of them it's their only real meal because they eat here and there and don't really have money,' explains Ofir.
Leaving haredi communities to join mainstream Israeli society is for many like moving to a foreign country. It entails learning a new language (particularly English, but in some cases also spoken Hebrew), internalizing modern codes of dress and behavior, creating a social framework and securing housing and employment.
Some haredi communities can be likened to Yiddish-speaking Eastern European shtetls - minus the cold weather and with modern appliances. 'Yotzim define themselves as new immigrants,' says Ofir, referring to haredi defectors who are commonly called yotzim b'she'ela ('going out to question,' a pun on hozrim b'teshuva, the Hebrew term for those returning to religion).
Despite these difficulties, the number of newly secular is apparently increasing, judging from last year's hike in inquiries to Hillel's open line. The proliferation of the Internet has made access to secular worldviews more readily available to haredim via their computers or cellphones. Many yotzim and prospective yotzim congregate digitally on the popular chat forum 'yotzim b'she'ela' on the Tapuz Web site portal. This is one reason, says Ofir, why some haredi community leaders are beginning to outlaw Internet use.
'It's important for us to state that we are not missionaries,' she clarifies. 'We work with those who choose to leave the haredi community. We have no interest in drawing them out.' Nor does Hillel seek to engage former haredim in religious debate. Instead, the organization refers them to libraries and the Internet to find answers to theological questions.
Da'at Emet was founded in 1998 by Yaron Yadan to provide such answers. The organization, dedicated to disseminating a scientific, humanistic interpretation of Judaism, initially went to haredi yeshivot and handed out pamphlets divulging ideas that countered haredi faith-based beliefs, such as those dealing with the divinity of the Torah and the veracity of the Talmud.
'We try to teach the haredi public that they live by an unethical, mistaken and inequitable system,' says Yadan, who fears that haredi influence and growth is undermining the state's democratic character. 'We try to explain to them that the secular world is more beautiful - it is filled with creativity, ethics and spirituality.'
These days, Da'at Emet reaches haredi communities here and abroad through lectures, workshops and its Web site, which features a range of articles written from an academic, humanistic perspective that expose inconsistencies, scientific errors and ethically problematic passages in the Bible and Talmud.
Da'at Emet is the fruit of Yadan's intellectual journey - he went from being secular to haredi, before becoming secular again. Having grown up in a non-religious household, he began to study at a Jerusalem yeshiva at age 17 to satisfy his search for meaning and purpose. 'I was (and still am) very knowledgeable in Jewish texts - the entire bookshelf,' he says.
While serving as head of a yeshiva for three years, Yadan began to critically examine biblical and talmudic texts. 'I found errors in zoology, medicine, astronomy, cosmology, anatomy and other fields, and I noticed that in Jewish religious texts morality is based not on ethics, but on mitzvot [commandments] founded upon halachic [religious law] errors. As a believer whose whole life was bound to the idea that God wrote the Torah, it eventually became clear to me there was no divine connection to the Torah.'
Finally, when he was convinced that his life was based on lies, Yadan broke the news to his wife. Unable to stand the idea that their seven children would continue to live and study an irrational belief system, he worked for three years to guide his wife toward his new truth. 'I succeeded. I don't know how. One night she turned on the lights on Shabbat, and that was that.'
Yadan has since divorced and remarried, and is currently completing his BA in Jewish thought. Judging from inquiries from haredim, he confirms that the phenomenon is growing.
'Today, unlike the time when Da'at Emet was founded, there is no haredi household that doesn't know someone who left the fold. It used to be that if a haredi family had a son or daughter who [became secular], other children in the family would not be considered for arranged marriages.'
These days, says Yadan, defection is more commonplace and no longer scars the reputation of other siblings.
His transition into the secular world may have been easier than that of other yotzim because of his secular roots, but with seven children to support and no profession, Yadan faced enormous financial hardship. Sometimes he advises haredim with many children not to leave.
'If you have no profession and even if your wife agrees with you, live a double life,' he tells them. 'Try at least to send your kids to schools that offer general education.'
While previous generations of yotzim laid the groundwork for others to follow, Yadan thinks the process remains a difficult one, as one former Jerusalem hassid attests.
'AT FIRST your life is hell. On one hand you're not familiar with secular culture, while on the other, you want to be a part of it,' says S., 23, who shaved off his beard and peyot only a few months ago. 'I never thought I'd do it. It takes courage to leave everything and go into a world you don't know.'
S. doesn't describe the process of leaving as the result of an intellectual journey or sudden revelation. He simply never felt like he fitted in. 'I lived a regular haredi life - I wasn't such a rebel - but I reached a situation where I couldn't stand living that way anymore. I never got along with my immediate family. We had no emotional connection. We had different mentalities. I was more drawn to a life of freedom, nature.'
A year ago, he divorced his wife from an arranged marriage that was a mismatch from the start. 'They married me to someone, it didn't work and I got divorced,' he says, simply.
Several months later he took off with his savings, and lived out of a suitcase in the center of the country until he eventually settled in a Tel Aviv apartment subsidized by Hillel. He found a job at a food stand but speaks with bitterness of his early work experience. 'They take advantage of you. At first you're very timid.' S. doesn't expect to secure a better-paying job without an academic qualification, as is common among yotzim.
'Those who study in yeshiva don't really know anything,' Ofir explains. 'They know Talmud very well, but don't know English or math.' To achieve a BA, the average male yotzeh must learn English from scratch, complete matriculation exams (a process that can take up to two years) and attend college for approximately four years. Some opt for army service, which further stretches the time until they graduate from college.
'If someone becomes more religious, they get help, education, housing, food,' relates S. 'Hessed [charity] is an integral part of haredi life, and many charity organizations provide food and services for needy haredim. You don't have that for people who become secular. Secular people live their lives. As a yotzeh, you're on your own. It's like you're thrown to the winds.'
To fill that void, Hillel models itself after charity organizations. Unlike some religious outreach organizations that receive government funding, Hillel subsists on private donations, mostly from abroad. The funds are channeled primarily for its members' education. The staff consists entirely of volunteers, except for one part-time position. Each Hillel member is assigned an individual tutor on secular living, and at both the Tel Aviv and Jerusalem branches, a library and racks of secular clothing are at the members' disposal.
Last weekend, Hillel organized a Purim retreat with workshops on employees' rights, dating and love and sex. In a world of arranged marriages, yotzim do not acquire basic dating skills.
'A lot of women at Hillel complain that the yotzim are very rude in their advances, because they have no idea how to approach a woman,' says P., a former haredi woman. 'Women have their own difficulties approaching men in the outer world because the codes are so different. The rules of the game in the secular world are much more varied. In the religious world it's very black and white - it's clear what you're supposed to do at every stage in the courtship.'
Ironically, female yotzot from certain haredi communities leave their world better equipped to adjust. Haredi women are often expected to support the family while husbands learn in yeshiva, and study math, English and science in high school. However, far fewer women than men leave haredi communities, in part because their lives are situated around the home and they are usually married off at a younger age. They also have a lot more at stake, including losing the amenities that go with an arranged marriage and often being stigmatized as 'whores,' who should be distanced from their community at all costs.
But R., a member of Hillel, points out that even a girls' education is usually not enough. 'When you grow up you don't have television or radio, and don't hear English songs - you just see and read Hebrew.'
Upon breaking away from her community, R. traveled to India where she had to converse in English for the first time. 'I didn't know how to say 'restaurant,' 'hotel,' 'waiter' - nothing. I felt so stupid.'
Racheli Granot, who left her home in Bnei Brak as a teen, describes herself as having adopted provocative dress and vulgar speech in her early rebellious years. 'As a girl who grew up in the hassidic world, when I went out to the free world I was very 'anti.' I rebelled against values, parents, family, myself and friends. I lost control. I wanted to swallow the world in one go.'
At 18 she joined Hillel, which guided her toward a healthier framework of work and study. 'They hammered into my skull that there are no short cuts in life, that I must study to bridge the big gap in my education, to aim high and try to be something in life,' she says.
WHILE YOTZIM often consider their entry into mainstream society a type of rebirth, replete with a new slew of opportunities for intellectual growth and freedom, the process of fully integrating may take many years for some. There is a common debate among Hillel members as to when a yotzeh stops being a yotzeh.
'You can't say I feel better,' says S., whose natural early-20s uncertainty is exacerbated by his limited childhood experiences. 'When you don't know yourself, your way around, you can't feel better. But I try to deal with what I have, to make the most of it.'
Meir Tahover, 25, believes that his process of adjustment took only several months because he began to scientifically research the non-haredi world as a teen, when he already began to doubt his hassidic lifestyle, asking questions like: 'It didn't make sense that God would create a person so that he'll suffer - why create fruit only to forbid it?'
From 19, this self-professed former model yeshiva student began to investigate other streams of Judaism, including religious Zionism, until he came to the conclusion at 23 that 'religion is not for me.' When his parents understood that he had abandoned religion completely, they threw him out of the house. At that point, Tahover became a member of Hillel, which assisted him in putting a roof over his head and funding studies toward his matriculation exam. He currently works in a stationary store and defines his goal simply: 'To build a new life. To make a better future for my children.'
With the passage of time his parents have softened toward him. Tahover recently attended his sister's wedding, where his father shook his hand for the first time in two years. He participates regularly in the popular Tapuz chat forum, responding to concerns raised by potential yotzim.
'One type is very intellectual and asks the right questions,' he says of the yotzim he has encountered. This group, he says, is a minority because a healthy sense of reason and inquiry is stifled at an early age. 'The second type, of which there are more, consists of those who don't have it good in the haredi community and seek a change.'
Faranak Margolese, author of the book Off the Derech, which examines why Jews leave Orthodoxy, cites a common thread in the motivations of haredim who leave. 'It seems the pressure to be religious in one particular way is often too stifling. The road becomes too narrow to walk, and the inability to legitimately move to another brand of observance leaves too few options for those who don't fit the mold,' she notes.
Ofir notices that most Hillel members abandon any belief in God or religious observance - at least in the early stages of rebellion. This trend could be stemmed, says Margolese, if haredi communities would change their attitudes toward other Jewish streams. 'A fair number of those in the haredi world who go off might have stayed at least somewhat observant if other communities or observant options were considered legitimate to their own world,' she says.
Considering the independent spirit, intellectual curiosity and mental fortitude required to leave their communities, yotzim who succeed in providing for their basic needs - whether through organizations like Hillel or on their own - often become productive, even overachieving members of society, notes Ofir. Hillel members have graduated from top Israeli universities and several have become army officers.
Perhaps the most telltale incident of the yotzim's assimilation into secular society occurred after Friday dinner, when they gathered to watch the popular television parody show Eretz Nehederet. They sat on sofas, laughing at all the jokes poked at politicians and celebrities.
As one member put it: 'The television show has nothing to do with being yotzim. Two million people watch it.'
In their jeans and T-shirts, they looked like the average Israeli who grew up on television, but their laughter may have been a little louder.
(BOX) They're in the army now
In haredi communities, the IDF is a symbol of the secular Jewish state that they reject outright. In principle, yeshiva students are exempt from military service and the government considers yeshiva study as national service. Haredi men who do not study in yeshiva, however, are required by law to enlist but are often encouraged by rabbis and community leaders to deliberately fail recruitment exams.
'One reason haredim don't want yeshiva students to go to the army is very simple,' says T., 19, a Hillel member in his second year of army service. 'As soon as they're exposed to the secular world, they see a new way and there's more chance of them leaving the haredi way of life.'
Prior to his break from his Sephardi haredi community, T. lied to the army about the state of his psychological health in order to secure an exemption. After much hesitation, he eventually decided to fulfill his army service. He worked to nullify his self-imposed exemption, but given his fake psychological profile, was placed in a unit for ex-cons and at-risk youth.
Despite this setback he successfully passed an officers' training course and now works in his field of choice, computers, although army bureaucracy still prevents him from upgrading his profile.
'We sometimes get in the picture to help them gain better positions,' says Hillel director Rina Ofir. 'The army isn't attentive enough and doesn't listen to us enough, and so we always have problems with the army.'
A Hillel liaison takes up cases like T's, and also assists in shortening service for those who are not prepared to serve the standard three years.
'Generally, we are supportive of their serving in the army,' says Ofir. 'But not everyone can do it. They have been educated since childhood against the army, and it's not easy for them.'
Such was the case with M., a handsome teen with gelled hair who left his hassidic Mea She'arim community at 16. 'At first I didn't want to be recruited because I heard bad stories about the army,' he explains in Hebrew, which he says he didn't learn properly until age 13.
M. met with an army psychologist to veto his exemption, and now serves as a driver with the status of a lone soldier.
Serving in the army, he says, has improved his self-image. Upon first leaving home, he would hang out with a ruffian crowd in Jerusalem streets before finding shelter at a youth hostel through a local organization assisting victims of family violence.
'I see all types of people in the army,' he says. 'It's very interesting. At first I thought I couldn't be in a structured environment. I was a problematic kid. Now I see from the army that I can be in a structured environment.'
His military service, however, has tarnished the image of his family. 'My 18-year-old brother is having trouble finding a shiduch [arranged marriage] because his brother is a soldier. They don't understand that we are protecting them.'
One of the greatest obstacles for ex-haredi soldiers is the loneliness. 'When I joined up, everyone came with their parents and I came by myself,' recalls M. 'I almost wanted to cry.'
Understanding this, Hillel representatives attend army ceremonies with the members and send them care packages every month. Volunteer families work with Hillel to 'adopt' soldiers - to give them a place to spend the weekend for a good meal, laundry and other amenities regular soldiers usually enjoy at their parents' house.
Despite the obstacles, T. is grateful for this opportunity. 'Thanks to the army I got a chance to understand secular society. I can still see the differences between them and me. They'll talk about cartoons they watched as a kid, and I don't.'
He also notices another, unlikely difference. 'Today I love the army - probably more than the others. I think I'm moved more than any other soldier when I hear Hatikva played every Thursday.'
Click here for original
For many disillusioned haredim leaving their close-knit community is like moving to a foreign country.
'Who wants to make kiddush?' a long-haired man asks at the Friday night table, holding a kiddush cup.
There seem to be no takers, so he begins himself to say the blessing but stops somewhere in the middle when he realizes no one is really paying attention. 'Yalla!' he says, dismissively, cutting the kiddush short while everyone proceeds to eat the three-course, buffet-style Shabbat meal.
Once skipping kiddush would have been a sacrilege for almost everyone around the table. These days, making the choice is its own blessing. The men and women sitting at the table are all former haredim who broke out of their dogmatic, strict confines, on pain of excommunication, poverty and loneliness, to live in a world in which they can choose how to live.
For some, this kind of gathering is the closest they get to feeling like part of a family, says Rina Ofir, director of Hillel, a non-profit organization that helps former haredim adjust to mainstream, pluralistic Israeli life. 'They don't really have the chance to go to home on Friday nights.'
Most haredi defectors are immediately ejected from their homes once they appear at the family doorstep without peyot (sidelocks) or, in the case of women, without a modest skirt.
Two years ago, Hillel made communal Friday night dinners a tradition, alternating weekly between its Tel Aviv and Jerusalem branches. 'It's important for them to be together, for the food as well - for some of them it's their only real meal because they eat here and there and don't really have money,' explains Ofir.
Leaving haredi communities to join mainstream Israeli society is for many like moving to a foreign country. It entails learning a new language (particularly English, but in some cases also spoken Hebrew), internalizing modern codes of dress and behavior, creating a social framework and securing housing and employment.
Some haredi communities can be likened to Yiddish-speaking Eastern European shtetls - minus the cold weather and with modern appliances. 'Yotzim define themselves as new immigrants,' says Ofir, referring to haredi defectors who are commonly called yotzim b'she'ela ('going out to question,' a pun on hozrim b'teshuva, the Hebrew term for those returning to religion).
Despite these difficulties, the number of newly secular is apparently increasing, judging from last year's hike in inquiries to Hillel's open line. The proliferation of the Internet has made access to secular worldviews more readily available to haredim via their computers or cellphones. Many yotzim and prospective yotzim congregate digitally on the popular chat forum 'yotzim b'she'ela' on the Tapuz Web site portal. This is one reason, says Ofir, why some haredi community leaders are beginning to outlaw Internet use.
'It's important for us to state that we are not missionaries,' she clarifies. 'We work with those who choose to leave the haredi community. We have no interest in drawing them out.' Nor does Hillel seek to engage former haredim in religious debate. Instead, the organization refers them to libraries and the Internet to find answers to theological questions.
Da'at Emet was founded in 1998 by Yaron Yadan to provide such answers. The organization, dedicated to disseminating a scientific, humanistic interpretation of Judaism, initially went to haredi yeshivot and handed out pamphlets divulging ideas that countered haredi faith-based beliefs, such as those dealing with the divinity of the Torah and the veracity of the Talmud.
'We try to teach the haredi public that they live by an unethical, mistaken and inequitable system,' says Yadan, who fears that haredi influence and growth is undermining the state's democratic character. 'We try to explain to them that the secular world is more beautiful - it is filled with creativity, ethics and spirituality.'
These days, Da'at Emet reaches haredi communities here and abroad through lectures, workshops and its Web site, which features a range of articles written from an academic, humanistic perspective that expose inconsistencies, scientific errors and ethically problematic passages in the Bible and Talmud.
Da'at Emet is the fruit of Yadan's intellectual journey - he went from being secular to haredi, before becoming secular again. Having grown up in a non-religious household, he began to study at a Jerusalem yeshiva at age 17 to satisfy his search for meaning and purpose. 'I was (and still am) very knowledgeable in Jewish texts - the entire bookshelf,' he says.
While serving as head of a yeshiva for three years, Yadan began to critically examine biblical and talmudic texts. 'I found errors in zoology, medicine, astronomy, cosmology, anatomy and other fields, and I noticed that in Jewish religious texts morality is based not on ethics, but on mitzvot [commandments] founded upon halachic [religious law] errors. As a believer whose whole life was bound to the idea that God wrote the Torah, it eventually became clear to me there was no divine connection to the Torah.'
Finally, when he was convinced that his life was based on lies, Yadan broke the news to his wife. Unable to stand the idea that their seven children would continue to live and study an irrational belief system, he worked for three years to guide his wife toward his new truth. 'I succeeded. I don't know how. One night she turned on the lights on Shabbat, and that was that.'
Yadan has since divorced and remarried, and is currently completing his BA in Jewish thought. Judging from inquiries from haredim, he confirms that the phenomenon is growing.
'Today, unlike the time when Da'at Emet was founded, there is no haredi household that doesn't know someone who left the fold. It used to be that if a haredi family had a son or daughter who [became secular], other children in the family would not be considered for arranged marriages.'
These days, says Yadan, defection is more commonplace and no longer scars the reputation of other siblings.
His transition into the secular world may have been easier than that of other yotzim because of his secular roots, but with seven children to support and no profession, Yadan faced enormous financial hardship. Sometimes he advises haredim with many children not to leave.
'If you have no profession and even if your wife agrees with you, live a double life,' he tells them. 'Try at least to send your kids to schools that offer general education.'
While previous generations of yotzim laid the groundwork for others to follow, Yadan thinks the process remains a difficult one, as one former Jerusalem hassid attests.
'AT FIRST your life is hell. On one hand you're not familiar with secular culture, while on the other, you want to be a part of it,' says S., 23, who shaved off his beard and peyot only a few months ago. 'I never thought I'd do it. It takes courage to leave everything and go into a world you don't know.'
S. doesn't describe the process of leaving as the result of an intellectual journey or sudden revelation. He simply never felt like he fitted in. 'I lived a regular haredi life - I wasn't such a rebel - but I reached a situation where I couldn't stand living that way anymore. I never got along with my immediate family. We had no emotional connection. We had different mentalities. I was more drawn to a life of freedom, nature.'
A year ago, he divorced his wife from an arranged marriage that was a mismatch from the start. 'They married me to someone, it didn't work and I got divorced,' he says, simply.
Several months later he took off with his savings, and lived out of a suitcase in the center of the country until he eventually settled in a Tel Aviv apartment subsidized by Hillel. He found a job at a food stand but speaks with bitterness of his early work experience. 'They take advantage of you. At first you're very timid.' S. doesn't expect to secure a better-paying job without an academic qualification, as is common among yotzim.
'Those who study in yeshiva don't really know anything,' Ofir explains. 'They know Talmud very well, but don't know English or math.' To achieve a BA, the average male yotzeh must learn English from scratch, complete matriculation exams (a process that can take up to two years) and attend college for approximately four years. Some opt for army service, which further stretches the time until they graduate from college.
'If someone becomes more religious, they get help, education, housing, food,' relates S. 'Hessed [charity] is an integral part of haredi life, and many charity organizations provide food and services for needy haredim. You don't have that for people who become secular. Secular people live their lives. As a yotzeh, you're on your own. It's like you're thrown to the winds.'
To fill that void, Hillel models itself after charity organizations. Unlike some religious outreach organizations that receive government funding, Hillel subsists on private donations, mostly from abroad. The funds are channeled primarily for its members' education. The staff consists entirely of volunteers, except for one part-time position. Each Hillel member is assigned an individual tutor on secular living, and at both the Tel Aviv and Jerusalem branches, a library and racks of secular clothing are at the members' disposal.
Last weekend, Hillel organized a Purim retreat with workshops on employees' rights, dating and love and sex. In a world of arranged marriages, yotzim do not acquire basic dating skills.
'A lot of women at Hillel complain that the yotzim are very rude in their advances, because they have no idea how to approach a woman,' says P., a former haredi woman. 'Women have their own difficulties approaching men in the outer world because the codes are so different. The rules of the game in the secular world are much more varied. In the religious world it's very black and white - it's clear what you're supposed to do at every stage in the courtship.'
Ironically, female yotzot from certain haredi communities leave their world better equipped to adjust. Haredi women are often expected to support the family while husbands learn in yeshiva, and study math, English and science in high school. However, far fewer women than men leave haredi communities, in part because their lives are situated around the home and they are usually married off at a younger age. They also have a lot more at stake, including losing the amenities that go with an arranged marriage and often being stigmatized as 'whores,' who should be distanced from their community at all costs.
But R., a member of Hillel, points out that even a girls' education is usually not enough. 'When you grow up you don't have television or radio, and don't hear English songs - you just see and read Hebrew.'
Upon breaking away from her community, R. traveled to India where she had to converse in English for the first time. 'I didn't know how to say 'restaurant,' 'hotel,' 'waiter' - nothing. I felt so stupid.'
Racheli Granot, who left her home in Bnei Brak as a teen, describes herself as having adopted provocative dress and vulgar speech in her early rebellious years. 'As a girl who grew up in the hassidic world, when I went out to the free world I was very 'anti.' I rebelled against values, parents, family, myself and friends. I lost control. I wanted to swallow the world in one go.'
At 18 she joined Hillel, which guided her toward a healthier framework of work and study. 'They hammered into my skull that there are no short cuts in life, that I must study to bridge the big gap in my education, to aim high and try to be something in life,' she says.
WHILE YOTZIM often consider their entry into mainstream society a type of rebirth, replete with a new slew of opportunities for intellectual growth and freedom, the process of fully integrating may take many years for some. There is a common debate among Hillel members as to when a yotzeh stops being a yotzeh.
'You can't say I feel better,' says S., whose natural early-20s uncertainty is exacerbated by his limited childhood experiences. 'When you don't know yourself, your way around, you can't feel better. But I try to deal with what I have, to make the most of it.'
Meir Tahover, 25, believes that his process of adjustment took only several months because he began to scientifically research the non-haredi world as a teen, when he already began to doubt his hassidic lifestyle, asking questions like: 'It didn't make sense that God would create a person so that he'll suffer - why create fruit only to forbid it?'
From 19, this self-professed former model yeshiva student began to investigate other streams of Judaism, including religious Zionism, until he came to the conclusion at 23 that 'religion is not for me.' When his parents understood that he had abandoned religion completely, they threw him out of the house. At that point, Tahover became a member of Hillel, which assisted him in putting a roof over his head and funding studies toward his matriculation exam. He currently works in a stationary store and defines his goal simply: 'To build a new life. To make a better future for my children.'
With the passage of time his parents have softened toward him. Tahover recently attended his sister's wedding, where his father shook his hand for the first time in two years. He participates regularly in the popular Tapuz chat forum, responding to concerns raised by potential yotzim.
'One type is very intellectual and asks the right questions,' he says of the yotzim he has encountered. This group, he says, is a minority because a healthy sense of reason and inquiry is stifled at an early age. 'The second type, of which there are more, consists of those who don't have it good in the haredi community and seek a change.'
Faranak Margolese, author of the book Off the Derech, which examines why Jews leave Orthodoxy, cites a common thread in the motivations of haredim who leave. 'It seems the pressure to be religious in one particular way is often too stifling. The road becomes too narrow to walk, and the inability to legitimately move to another brand of observance leaves too few options for those who don't fit the mold,' she notes.
Ofir notices that most Hillel members abandon any belief in God or religious observance - at least in the early stages of rebellion. This trend could be stemmed, says Margolese, if haredi communities would change their attitudes toward other Jewish streams. 'A fair number of those in the haredi world who go off might have stayed at least somewhat observant if other communities or observant options were considered legitimate to their own world,' she says.
Considering the independent spirit, intellectual curiosity and mental fortitude required to leave their communities, yotzim who succeed in providing for their basic needs - whether through organizations like Hillel or on their own - often become productive, even overachieving members of society, notes Ofir. Hillel members have graduated from top Israeli universities and several have become army officers.
Perhaps the most telltale incident of the yotzim's assimilation into secular society occurred after Friday dinner, when they gathered to watch the popular television parody show Eretz Nehederet. They sat on sofas, laughing at all the jokes poked at politicians and celebrities.
As one member put it: 'The television show has nothing to do with being yotzim. Two million people watch it.'
In their jeans and T-shirts, they looked like the average Israeli who grew up on television, but their laughter may have been a little louder.
(BOX) They're in the army now
In haredi communities, the IDF is a symbol of the secular Jewish state that they reject outright. In principle, yeshiva students are exempt from military service and the government considers yeshiva study as national service. Haredi men who do not study in yeshiva, however, are required by law to enlist but are often encouraged by rabbis and community leaders to deliberately fail recruitment exams.
'One reason haredim don't want yeshiva students to go to the army is very simple,' says T., 19, a Hillel member in his second year of army service. 'As soon as they're exposed to the secular world, they see a new way and there's more chance of them leaving the haredi way of life.'
Prior to his break from his Sephardi haredi community, T. lied to the army about the state of his psychological health in order to secure an exemption. After much hesitation, he eventually decided to fulfill his army service. He worked to nullify his self-imposed exemption, but given his fake psychological profile, was placed in a unit for ex-cons and at-risk youth.
Despite this setback he successfully passed an officers' training course and now works in his field of choice, computers, although army bureaucracy still prevents him from upgrading his profile.
'We sometimes get in the picture to help them gain better positions,' says Hillel director Rina Ofir. 'The army isn't attentive enough and doesn't listen to us enough, and so we always have problems with the army.'
A Hillel liaison takes up cases like T's, and also assists in shortening service for those who are not prepared to serve the standard three years.
'Generally, we are supportive of their serving in the army,' says Ofir. 'But not everyone can do it. They have been educated since childhood against the army, and it's not easy for them.'
Such was the case with M., a handsome teen with gelled hair who left his hassidic Mea She'arim community at 16. 'At first I didn't want to be recruited because I heard bad stories about the army,' he explains in Hebrew, which he says he didn't learn properly until age 13.
M. met with an army psychologist to veto his exemption, and now serves as a driver with the status of a lone soldier.
Serving in the army, he says, has improved his self-image. Upon first leaving home, he would hang out with a ruffian crowd in Jerusalem streets before finding shelter at a youth hostel through a local organization assisting victims of family violence.
'I see all types of people in the army,' he says. 'It's very interesting. At first I thought I couldn't be in a structured environment. I was a problematic kid. Now I see from the army that I can be in a structured environment.'
His military service, however, has tarnished the image of his family. 'My 18-year-old brother is having trouble finding a shiduch [arranged marriage] because his brother is a soldier. They don't understand that we are protecting them.'
One of the greatest obstacles for ex-haredi soldiers is the loneliness. 'When I joined up, everyone came with their parents and I came by myself,' recalls M. 'I almost wanted to cry.'
Understanding this, Hillel representatives attend army ceremonies with the members and send them care packages every month. Volunteer families work with Hillel to 'adopt' soldiers - to give them a place to spend the weekend for a good meal, laundry and other amenities regular soldiers usually enjoy at their parents' house.
Despite the obstacles, T. is grateful for this opportunity. 'Thanks to the army I got a chance to understand secular society. I can still see the differences between them and me. They'll talk about cartoons they watched as a kid, and I don't.'
He also notices another, unlikely difference. 'Today I love the army - probably more than the others. I think I'm moved more than any other soldier when I hear Hatikva played every Thursday.'
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Designing woman
Jerusalem Post, Daily; February 20, 2007
Sitting on the blue and white striped sofas in the living room, Lea Gottlieb, founder of the famous Israeli swimwear brand Gottex, starts off the interview with a charming smile and disarming declaration: "Ani me'od old," she says, in English sprinkled with Hebrew, explaining her use of a hearing aid. "Mrs. Gottlieb," as she is referred by all who know her, turns 89 in September.
Judging by her current creative output, however, it's hard to categorize this fashion matriarch as "old." A few minutes into the interview at her Tel Aviv penthouse, she's already showing off the 2007 catalogue of the Lea Gottlieb swimwear line she established in 2005. The opening gala event of the International Women's Festival in Holon taking place tonight will salute Gottlieb for her past- and present-contributions to Israeli fashion.
Gottlieb's rags to riches story is already the stuff of Israeli fashion history lore. Born in Hungary, Gottlieb came to Israel on ship after World War II with her late husband, Armin, a raincoat maker by profession. With no use for raincoats in the Mediterranean heat, the seamstress Gottlieb began to make swimsuits in their small Jaffa flat with her sewing machine. Gottlieb defines "taste" as their greatest, initial capital.
"You need good taste-and with taste, a very strong desire-then anything is possible," she says.
In their early days, her husband would peddle their wares door to door to shop owners throughout Tel Aviv- Jaffa. Decades later they sold their wares to Jacqueline Kennedy, Princess Diana, Nancy Kissinger, Elizabeth Taylor, and the list goes on.
But today Gottlieb speaks as if her career has just begun.
"At this age, thank God I am healthy-I can work and think-this is fantastic," Gottlieb says with a gentility and sweetness that belies her imposing stature in the Israel fashion world. "Everything comes from here," she says, pointing to her heart. "I need to do. I need to be active."
Her youthful ability to look forward may have been honed by some of her past heartbreaks.
Gottlieb's decision to start a new swimwear line at age 85 was prompted by the dying wish of daughter, Yehudit, who passed away from cancer.
"She told me at the last minute that I have to work. It will not be good if I don't work, and therefore I am working," relates Gottlieb. Both her daughters were full partners in Gottex operations. Gottlieb is even out-working her older daughter, Miriam, 66, who lives in New York where she works a full-time grandmother. Gottlieb is grandmother to six and great-grandmother to seven.
Gottlieb would rather not discuss the widely-publicized, painful, and friction-filled sale of Gottex to the holding company, Africa-Israel Investments 10 years ago. That Gottlieb wasn't invited to Gottex's jubilee anniversary celebration last year speaks itself for the soured relations between the old and new owners. Today Gottlieb is, after all, Gottex's competitor.
IN 2005 Gottlieb teamed up with Macro Clothing, a subsidiary of Tefron, a publicly traded apparel manufacturer in Israel, to manufacture, market and distribute the first Lea Gottlieb collection. As a test run, Macro flew with Gottlieb to Spain to present the largest department store chain there with their first collection. They bought 25,000 pieces on the spot.
"She's a legend," relates Tamara Lew Wik, brand manager for Macro. "When you say 'Mrs. Gottlieb', anyone in the swimwear business is still excited that she still has vision and talent." Gottlieb visits the Macro studio weekly to develop her original ideas together with a team of designers assigned specifically to the brand. Gottlieb travels yearly to European fashion shows to stay current. Currently, they are preparing the 2008 collection, which will be sold in department stories and boutique shops across Europe, Russia, and the US, including Bloomingdale's and Neiman Marcus, past Gottex clients.
"My collection is like boutique Gottex," Gottlieb says of the inevitable similarities between her new designs and classic Gottex. Her 2007 collection include the signature patterns that made Gottex a household name: bold, colorful, floral prints; marine and yacht motifs; and exotic patterns inspired by artists Gauguin and a Frida Kahlo.
"I love colors," Gottlieb affirms. Towards the end of the interview, she walks me through her lush, flower-filled patio to reach her book-lined studio, where she is greeted by her Pomeranian, Motek. She pulls out the books of the artists who provide her with plentiful inspiration: Renoir, Matisse, Dali, and Cassatt, to name a few.
"I love Gauguin a lot," she says. A poster of the post-Impressionist master hangs across from a bright print of Naomi Campbell posing in an earthy Gottex bikini, and the similarities are evident.
When she is not thinking up new designs, she attends museums, shops for flowers to add to her collection, and takes Motek out for walks. Her assistant reminds her that later that night they she is attending a Toscanini tribute concert.
Gottlieb has no complaints: "I'm always satisfied."
Tonight's gala for the International Women's Festival will be hosted by Israeli model and television host Galit Gutman, and will feature a tribute fashion show, interviews with Gottlieb's friends colleagues, and a ballet performance.
Gottlieb's advice to the career woman is simple: "To find an idea to work hard for that-after that success comes."
Sitting on the blue and white striped sofas in the living room, Lea Gottlieb, founder of the famous Israeli swimwear brand Gottex, starts off the interview with a charming smile and disarming declaration: "Ani me'od old," she says, in English sprinkled with Hebrew, explaining her use of a hearing aid. "Mrs. Gottlieb," as she is referred by all who know her, turns 89 in September.
Judging by her current creative output, however, it's hard to categorize this fashion matriarch as "old." A few minutes into the interview at her Tel Aviv penthouse, she's already showing off the 2007 catalogue of the Lea Gottlieb swimwear line she established in 2005. The opening gala event of the International Women's Festival in Holon taking place tonight will salute Gottlieb for her past- and present-contributions to Israeli fashion.
Gottlieb's rags to riches story is already the stuff of Israeli fashion history lore. Born in Hungary, Gottlieb came to Israel on ship after World War II with her late husband, Armin, a raincoat maker by profession. With no use for raincoats in the Mediterranean heat, the seamstress Gottlieb began to make swimsuits in their small Jaffa flat with her sewing machine. Gottlieb defines "taste" as their greatest, initial capital.
"You need good taste-and with taste, a very strong desire-then anything is possible," she says.
In their early days, her husband would peddle their wares door to door to shop owners throughout Tel Aviv- Jaffa. Decades later they sold their wares to Jacqueline Kennedy, Princess Diana, Nancy Kissinger, Elizabeth Taylor, and the list goes on.
But today Gottlieb speaks as if her career has just begun.
"At this age, thank God I am healthy-I can work and think-this is fantastic," Gottlieb says with a gentility and sweetness that belies her imposing stature in the Israel fashion world. "Everything comes from here," she says, pointing to her heart. "I need to do. I need to be active."
Her youthful ability to look forward may have been honed by some of her past heartbreaks.
Gottlieb's decision to start a new swimwear line at age 85 was prompted by the dying wish of daughter, Yehudit, who passed away from cancer.
"She told me at the last minute that I have to work. It will not be good if I don't work, and therefore I am working," relates Gottlieb. Both her daughters were full partners in Gottex operations. Gottlieb is even out-working her older daughter, Miriam, 66, who lives in New York where she works a full-time grandmother. Gottlieb is grandmother to six and great-grandmother to seven.
Gottlieb would rather not discuss the widely-publicized, painful, and friction-filled sale of Gottex to the holding company, Africa-Israel Investments 10 years ago. That Gottlieb wasn't invited to Gottex's jubilee anniversary celebration last year speaks itself for the soured relations between the old and new owners. Today Gottlieb is, after all, Gottex's competitor.
IN 2005 Gottlieb teamed up with Macro Clothing, a subsidiary of Tefron, a publicly traded apparel manufacturer in Israel, to manufacture, market and distribute the first Lea Gottlieb collection. As a test run, Macro flew with Gottlieb to Spain to present the largest department store chain there with their first collection. They bought 25,000 pieces on the spot.
"She's a legend," relates Tamara Lew Wik, brand manager for Macro. "When you say 'Mrs. Gottlieb', anyone in the swimwear business is still excited that she still has vision and talent." Gottlieb visits the Macro studio weekly to develop her original ideas together with a team of designers assigned specifically to the brand. Gottlieb travels yearly to European fashion shows to stay current. Currently, they are preparing the 2008 collection, which will be sold in department stories and boutique shops across Europe, Russia, and the US, including Bloomingdale's and Neiman Marcus, past Gottex clients.
"My collection is like boutique Gottex," Gottlieb says of the inevitable similarities between her new designs and classic Gottex. Her 2007 collection include the signature patterns that made Gottex a household name: bold, colorful, floral prints; marine and yacht motifs; and exotic patterns inspired by artists Gauguin and a Frida Kahlo.
"I love colors," Gottlieb affirms. Towards the end of the interview, she walks me through her lush, flower-filled patio to reach her book-lined studio, where she is greeted by her Pomeranian, Motek. She pulls out the books of the artists who provide her with plentiful inspiration: Renoir, Matisse, Dali, and Cassatt, to name a few.
"I love Gauguin a lot," she says. A poster of the post-Impressionist master hangs across from a bright print of Naomi Campbell posing in an earthy Gottex bikini, and the similarities are evident.
When she is not thinking up new designs, she attends museums, shops for flowers to add to her collection, and takes Motek out for walks. Her assistant reminds her that later that night they she is attending a Toscanini tribute concert.
Gottlieb has no complaints: "I'm always satisfied."
Tonight's gala for the International Women's Festival will be hosted by Israeli model and television host Galit Gutman, and will feature a tribute fashion show, interviews with Gottlieb's friends colleagues, and a ballet performance.
Gottlieb's advice to the career woman is simple: "To find an idea to work hard for that-after that success comes."
Friday, February 9, 2007
Railing against the railway
Jerusalem Post, In Jerusalem; February 9, 2007
Click here for original
With the recent split in the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv railway line, some Jerusalem commuters are looking for the fastest track to the metropolis.
It's 9:45 on Monday morning. The parking lot outside the Malha railway station is only one-quarter full. There is no line at the entrance security check, and travelers leisurely stroll up the escalators to an empty hall to buy their tickets from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv.
The train leaves at 9:59 a.m., on schedule. There are about eight seats per passenger, and the train chugs away through Jerusalem brush-filled mountains and rough, golden terrain. A creek refilled from the rainstorm the day before runs alongside the track. At one point, an Arab shepherd leads his goats across it.
The scene outside the window is tranquil and soothing, but behind the scenes, the road to making the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line profitable and effective has been rough, jerky and, critics say, has led nowhere.
"The decision to renew the line was faulty to begin with," says transportation consultant Dr. Moshe Hirsh, who was part of an expert team that advised the government as it checked the possibility of renewing the line. "It went against professional opinion."
Originally built in the early 1890s under Ottoman rule, the Jaffa- Jerusalem line ran its first train in 1892. The Israeli government took over its operation with the founding of the state, and Israel Railways operated the same Tel Aviv-Jerusalem route until it was discontinued in 1998.
Under Ariel Sharon the government decided to renovate the track in 2001 as a less expensive, interim solution to train transport between the capital and the metropolis, while Israel Railways began to build the costly high-speed line. The train re-launched in April 2005 from the newly built station in Malha, and stopped at Beit Shemesh, Lod and Ramla before reaching the Hagana Station in Tel Aviv.
Hirsh was part of the team that simulated the ride to forecast its travel time and cost. "The [experts] said that the length of the ride after the renovation would be 85 minutes and not the 55 minutes Israel Railways predicted."
In addition, they warned that costs would be much higher than anticipated. Today, costs have reached NIS 600 million.
"Either they didn't believe our report, which turned out to be correct, or they thought, perhaps, that they needed to build the line for the public good, to connect Jerusalem with other cities."
Maly Cohen, Israel Railways spokesperson, explains that profit wasn't the only motivating factor.
"The railway system is for the public benefit. Trains in Israel, like trains all over the world, are not all built for economic feasibility or for profitable turnover, as is the case with public transportation in general. The assumption was to invest money in infrastructure because it has a general benefit in the prevention of traffic, accidents, and air pollution."
Given the length of the ride (about 85 minutes) as well as the peripheral location of the Malha Station, the train wasn't considered by many Jerusalem-Tel Aviv commuters as a desirable alternative to cars and buses. The numbers speak for themselves: only some 1,000 people used the train for daily travel between Israel's two major cities in 2006.
Egged declined to give out "classified business" information on the number of daily Jerusalem-Tel Aviv bus commuters, but a look at its Web site timetable reveals that Egged operates over 130 direct buses daily from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. They start a little before 6 a.m. and run about every 15 minutes. Each bus has a standard seating capacity of 51 - the average number of passengers on each Jerusalem- Tel Aviv train.
ADI COHEN, a resident of Ramat Hasharon who works at the Jerusalem Technological Park right across the street from the Malha station, expresses the popular public complaint with the train.
"At the time I was very glad they opened it because it seemed the most convenient," he says. "It has advantages - you can read, do other things you can't do in a car - but the time it took didn't make it feasible."
He now carpools to Jerusalem, cutting the round-trip by one hour total.
Jerusalem resident Shelly Halachmi-Sussman, who also works at the Technological Park, decided to try the train recently for the first time to attend a meeting in Tel Aviv. Just getting to the central bus station would have taken her an extra 20 minutes.
"Once in a while it doesn't bother me," she says, not long after waking up from a pleasant nap while riding the train. "It's like a trip." But she says she wouldn't use it regularly.
At the end of 2006, in response to the low ridership among Jerusalem-Tel Aviv commuters, Israel Railways changed the service pattern so that trains from Jerusalem now terminate at Beit Shemesh, where passengers transfer to a Tel Aviv-bound train. At some times of day there is no connecting train, and passengers from Jerusalem have to wait up to 48 minutes at the Beit Shemesh Station. The move followed the basic laws of economics: increase supply with demand.
"An analysis of the demand reveals that the Beit Shemesh-Tel Aviv line is used three times more than the Beit Shemesh-Jerusalem line," reads a statement from the Israel Railways press office. "In addition, the demand for the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line is three times lower than the demand of Beit Shemesh residents."
But the new route got off to a rocky start. On the morning the change went into effect, the train hit a tractor trying to cross the tracks about 3 km before the Beit Shemesh station. The accident left 31 lightly injured.
Some passengers complained the split wasn't publicized properly.
"When they opened up the Malha train station, a big deal was made. When they shut down the direct service, it was on the quiet," says Esther Singer, a Tel Aviv resident who says she suffers from the split. Now she rides the bus to her job in Jerusalem, which takes her up to five hours total daily.
Anna Moses, a resident of Gilo in south Jerusalem, decided to take the train to run errands and visit family in the center of Israel. She didn't know about the transfer at Beit Shemesh.
"They also don't tell you in an orderly, polite way," she says, as the train crosses the Jerusalem countryside. "They announced it on the speakers." She's not sure if she would have taken the train had she known.
A few days after the change, some 70 passengers signed a petition expressing their dissatisfaction with the transfer at Beit Shemesh and asking Israel Railways to reinstate the direct line.
"The halting of direct service between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv makes it very difficult for commuters between the two cities," reads the petition. It lists their complaints as follows: The length of the ride is unbearable (90 minutes from Malha to Tel Aviv's Hagana Station); passengers must go down stairs and through a small tunnel to transfer trains, re-exposing them to bad winter weather; the train experiences unnecessary delays, a symptom, the petition charges, of inefficient timetable management.
Even though she owns a car, Jerusalem resident Leah Rosen, one of the instigators of the petition, saw the train as the best option for commuting to her job at Tel Aviv University.
"I live in the southern part of Jerusalem, and it's easier to get to the Malha railway station than to the Central Bus Station. It's easier on the train to concentrate, get work done."
Since the change, she has been actively seeking other options, like forming a carpool. "If you claim that commuters from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv don't deserve a railroad, that they could take their cars and buses, then I think a value decision is being made here. You're leaving the people from Jerusalem in the lurch. You're saying these people aren't important."
She thinks the lack of immediate, effective commuting options may cause people to leave the city. "Does the mayor want people to leave Jerusalem?" she wonders.
When asked what the city is doing to improve commuting options between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, Gidi Schmerling, Jerusalem Municipality spokesman, offered the following statement: "The municipality works with the government in order to improve transportation to and from Jerusalem, including the new railway line and road number 9."
However, he explained that the government is responsible for most inter-city transport projects.
In a telephone interview, Avner Ovadia, spokesman of the Ministry of Transportation, responded to the complaint made by Jerusalem train commuters: "You have to provide a solution for the majority."
Serving Beit Shemesh, he clarifies, was a top factor in the decision to upgrade the line in the first place. "It was supposed to give an answer to Beit Shemesh and Tel Aviv in addition to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv," he says. "It's important to connect the capital of Israel to other cities. Once you connect it to Beit Shemesh, you connect it to the rest of the chain."
He adds that the upcoming high-speed line will not provide a solution for Beit Shemesh commuters.
Transportation consultant Hirsch sympathizes with the reasons behind the split. But, he adds, the train may have defeated its original purpose - to connect Jerusalem with Beit Shemesh. "Now it's easier for Beit Shemesh residents to travel to Tel Aviv. Once they would have come to Jerusalem."
THE TRAIN arrives in Beit Shemesh on time at 10:38 a.m. It's not rush hour, so the transfer goes smoothly. Passengers walk through a short tunnel to reach the next platform, where the train is waiting.
The carriages are fuller, with a ratio of about four seats per passenger. Jay Haberfield of Ramat Beit Shemesh is among them. He happened to have taken the off-peak train to his job at a bank in Tel Aviv. A few minutes into the ride, he fiddles with some paperwork, and shares his pleasure at the Israel Railways move to split the journey at Beit Shemesh.
"We were experiencing constant delays," he explains. "Before this change Beit Shemesh riders depended on trains coming from Jerusalem, and they constantly came in late five to 15 minutes every day."
As a case in point, he cites the train accident that occurred the day the split went into effect. "Had the change not gone into effect that day it would have been two to three hours late."
On top of that, inbound Jerusalem trains couldn't always accommodate all Beit Shemesh passengers since the winding tracks from Jerusalem and Beit Shemesh could only service trains with a limited number of cars. Now, at peak hours, the Beit Shemesh-Tel Aviv line runs double-decker trains.
So far no statistics are available regarding any hike in the number of Beit Shemesh-Tel Aviv commuters as a result of the split. Any increase, however, has already come at the expense of some Jerusalem residents, rendering the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line even less frequented.
"I sometimes took the train until they stopped having the direct train," explains Benji, a commuter. "Now I'd have to take the train that leaves at 6:59 a.m. To do that, I'd have to leave my house a little after 6:30 a.m. and I'd get to the train station in Tel Aviv at around 8:30 a.m."
Since he doesn't own a car, he opted for the bus. Riding the bus now, he says, cuts the ride to Tel Aviv by about a half hour.
"The train would have been an option had they met their schedule before they made the split in Beit Shemesh. I would have taken the train much more often. At that point the extra five, 10 minutes made the time even longer, much too long."
A variety of factors affects commuters' decision to choose between train, bus, or car: economics, scheduling, location of residence in Jerusalem and location of Tel Aviv destination. But unless commuters live right near the start or end point, the length of the ride from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv is likely to reach three hours round-trip door to door, no matter which method is chosen.
Talpiot resident Hillel traveled via bus to, and a train from, his job at an insurance company in Tel Aviv before receiving a company car.
"The bus took about 80 to 90 minutes, sometimes a bit more. In the rain it took two and half hours, which was crazy. The train coming back always took 80 minutes, but I haven't taken it since they changed it. I couldn't bear to go now that you have to change trains."
Fortunately, he received the company car, whose relative value is deducted from his salary, not long before the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv split. But driving a car, he warns, is fraught with its fair share of annoyances. "It's too expensive to drive every day from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv and it's a nasty ride - it's long, dangerous and tiring."
His experience reveals that during rush hour, a driver is likely to sit in traffic for a minimum of 90 minutes. To avoid a long car ride, he makes a point to travel off-hours, but is now considering moving to Beit Shemesh, Modi'in or Ra'anana when his lease is up. "If I move to Beit Shemesh I'll take the train every day so I could make productive use of the time, for davening [praying] or working - and meeting people."
But some train commuters, like MBA student and Jerusalem resident Temima Taragin, aren't bothered enough by the split to give up on train transport. She still travels via train to her job right near the Hashalom Station.
"What I like about the train is that it's very quiet and I like doing my school work. This way I'm not distracted by other things at home - television, shopping. If you're there you might as well make the most of it."
(BOX #1) You decide!
For those commuters still unsure of the best way to get to Tel Aviv, here's a list of pros and cons:
Train
Pros:
1. The idyllic countryside between Beit Shemesh and Jerusalem
2. Tables and ample legroom for a comfortable ride
3. Environmental friendliness
4. The pleasant (and often empty) Malha Station
5. Patriotism
Cons:
1. Current length of ride (90 minutes)
2. No cellphone service for part of the ride
3. The price (NIS 19; round trip, NIS 34.50)
4. The new Beit Shemesh transfer
5. Infrequency (every hour from Jerusalem)
Bus
Pros:
1. On off-peak hours it takes only 50 minutes
2. Relative reliability
3. The price (NIS 17.70, round trip, NIS 30.10 )
4. Frequency of the lines (on average every 15 minutes)
5. Take part in a bona-fide Israeli experience
Cons:
1. The rowdy, crowded Central Bus Station
2. Feeling like a sardine inside the bus during rush hour
3. Car sickness
4. Inability to read or work
5. Risk of road congestion
Car
Pros:
1. Schedule control
2. AC control
3. Radio station, music control
4. Door to door service
5. Car also serves as intra-city transport
Cons:
1. Buying and maintaining a car
2. Cost of gas
3. Full concentration required
4. Parking worries
5. More dangerous than public transportation - O.A.
(BOX #2) Panacea or pain?
A number of transportation projects are currently in the works to provide long-term solutions to traffic, congestion and immobility within and en-route to Jerusalem. Some Jerusalem drivers complain that the construction involved in installing new roads and rails has only made city traffic less smooth and convenient. Time will tell whether or not these mass transportation investments will clear the path for better transport.
The High-Speed Railway
Israel Railways is currently paving the roads for the Jerusalem- Tel Aviv high-speed line, which will connect the two cities via Modi'in and Ben-Gurion Airport.
The project combines innovative transportation technology never before used in Israel, including the building of an underground train station at the Jerusalem International Convention Center and a tunnel 11.5 kilometers long.
Length of ride: 28 minutes Jerusalem-Tel Aviv; 17 minutes Tel Aviv-Mod'iin.
Frequency: Three trains per hour
Estimated completion of Tel Aviv-Modi'in line: October 2007
Estimated completion of Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line: 2011
Construction cost: NIS 4 billion
The Light Rail: The Red Line
The light rail, which last November laid its first track, is slated to make intra-city travel to the city center and the Central Bus Station more efficient and accessible. The first light rail will take passengers through 24 stations from Pisgat Ze'ev to Mount Herzl via the city center, and will serve more than 200,000 passengers a day on its 46 cars.
Length of ride: 28 minutes during rush hour
Frequency: Rush hour: every 4 minutes; Off-peak: every 8-12 minutes
Estimated completion: January 2009
Construction cost: NIS 4.3 billion
HGB High Grade Bus: The Blue Line
The Blue Line will connect north and south Jerusalem, from Gilo to Ramot via the city center, using an updated, state-of-the-art bus system. These new buses will feature hybrid engines and seating for 180 passengers. Traffic lights will change automatically to give immediate right of way to oncoming buses. Part of the infrastructure for this line is already in place and now serves regular Egged busses.
Length of ride: Approximately 30 minutes during rush hour
Frequency: Rush hour, every 3-5 minutes; off-peak, every 6-10 minutes
Estimated completion of infrastructure: August 2008
Construction cost: NIS 180 million (not including buses)
Route 9
Route 9 is currently being constructed to connect the Motza region to neighborhoods in northern Jerusalem via the intersection at Golda Meir Boulevard and the Begin highway. This road is designed to provide a new access point into the city from the main Jerusalem- Tel Aviv highway and therefore to ease congestion at the main Jerusalem entrance.
Construction Cost: NIS 480 million
Estimated completion: Jerusalem Day 2007
Click here for original
With the recent split in the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv railway line, some Jerusalem commuters are looking for the fastest track to the metropolis.
It's 9:45 on Monday morning. The parking lot outside the Malha railway station is only one-quarter full. There is no line at the entrance security check, and travelers leisurely stroll up the escalators to an empty hall to buy their tickets from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv.
The train leaves at 9:59 a.m., on schedule. There are about eight seats per passenger, and the train chugs away through Jerusalem brush-filled mountains and rough, golden terrain. A creek refilled from the rainstorm the day before runs alongside the track. At one point, an Arab shepherd leads his goats across it.
The scene outside the window is tranquil and soothing, but behind the scenes, the road to making the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line profitable and effective has been rough, jerky and, critics say, has led nowhere.
"The decision to renew the line was faulty to begin with," says transportation consultant Dr. Moshe Hirsh, who was part of an expert team that advised the government as it checked the possibility of renewing the line. "It went against professional opinion."
Originally built in the early 1890s under Ottoman rule, the Jaffa- Jerusalem line ran its first train in 1892. The Israeli government took over its operation with the founding of the state, and Israel Railways operated the same Tel Aviv-Jerusalem route until it was discontinued in 1998.
Under Ariel Sharon the government decided to renovate the track in 2001 as a less expensive, interim solution to train transport between the capital and the metropolis, while Israel Railways began to build the costly high-speed line. The train re-launched in April 2005 from the newly built station in Malha, and stopped at Beit Shemesh, Lod and Ramla before reaching the Hagana Station in Tel Aviv.
Hirsh was part of the team that simulated the ride to forecast its travel time and cost. "The [experts] said that the length of the ride after the renovation would be 85 minutes and not the 55 minutes Israel Railways predicted."
In addition, they warned that costs would be much higher than anticipated. Today, costs have reached NIS 600 million.
"Either they didn't believe our report, which turned out to be correct, or they thought, perhaps, that they needed to build the line for the public good, to connect Jerusalem with other cities."
Maly Cohen, Israel Railways spokesperson, explains that profit wasn't the only motivating factor.
"The railway system is for the public benefit. Trains in Israel, like trains all over the world, are not all built for economic feasibility or for profitable turnover, as is the case with public transportation in general. The assumption was to invest money in infrastructure because it has a general benefit in the prevention of traffic, accidents, and air pollution."
Given the length of the ride (about 85 minutes) as well as the peripheral location of the Malha Station, the train wasn't considered by many Jerusalem-Tel Aviv commuters as a desirable alternative to cars and buses. The numbers speak for themselves: only some 1,000 people used the train for daily travel between Israel's two major cities in 2006.
Egged declined to give out "classified business" information on the number of daily Jerusalem-Tel Aviv bus commuters, but a look at its Web site timetable reveals that Egged operates over 130 direct buses daily from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. They start a little before 6 a.m. and run about every 15 minutes. Each bus has a standard seating capacity of 51 - the average number of passengers on each Jerusalem- Tel Aviv train.
ADI COHEN, a resident of Ramat Hasharon who works at the Jerusalem Technological Park right across the street from the Malha station, expresses the popular public complaint with the train.
"At the time I was very glad they opened it because it seemed the most convenient," he says. "It has advantages - you can read, do other things you can't do in a car - but the time it took didn't make it feasible."
He now carpools to Jerusalem, cutting the round-trip by one hour total.
Jerusalem resident Shelly Halachmi-Sussman, who also works at the Technological Park, decided to try the train recently for the first time to attend a meeting in Tel Aviv. Just getting to the central bus station would have taken her an extra 20 minutes.
"Once in a while it doesn't bother me," she says, not long after waking up from a pleasant nap while riding the train. "It's like a trip." But she says she wouldn't use it regularly.
At the end of 2006, in response to the low ridership among Jerusalem-Tel Aviv commuters, Israel Railways changed the service pattern so that trains from Jerusalem now terminate at Beit Shemesh, where passengers transfer to a Tel Aviv-bound train. At some times of day there is no connecting train, and passengers from Jerusalem have to wait up to 48 minutes at the Beit Shemesh Station. The move followed the basic laws of economics: increase supply with demand.
"An analysis of the demand reveals that the Beit Shemesh-Tel Aviv line is used three times more than the Beit Shemesh-Jerusalem line," reads a statement from the Israel Railways press office. "In addition, the demand for the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line is three times lower than the demand of Beit Shemesh residents."
But the new route got off to a rocky start. On the morning the change went into effect, the train hit a tractor trying to cross the tracks about 3 km before the Beit Shemesh station. The accident left 31 lightly injured.
Some passengers complained the split wasn't publicized properly.
"When they opened up the Malha train station, a big deal was made. When they shut down the direct service, it was on the quiet," says Esther Singer, a Tel Aviv resident who says she suffers from the split. Now she rides the bus to her job in Jerusalem, which takes her up to five hours total daily.
Anna Moses, a resident of Gilo in south Jerusalem, decided to take the train to run errands and visit family in the center of Israel. She didn't know about the transfer at Beit Shemesh.
"They also don't tell you in an orderly, polite way," she says, as the train crosses the Jerusalem countryside. "They announced it on the speakers." She's not sure if she would have taken the train had she known.
A few days after the change, some 70 passengers signed a petition expressing their dissatisfaction with the transfer at Beit Shemesh and asking Israel Railways to reinstate the direct line.
"The halting of direct service between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv makes it very difficult for commuters between the two cities," reads the petition. It lists their complaints as follows: The length of the ride is unbearable (90 minutes from Malha to Tel Aviv's Hagana Station); passengers must go down stairs and through a small tunnel to transfer trains, re-exposing them to bad winter weather; the train experiences unnecessary delays, a symptom, the petition charges, of inefficient timetable management.
Even though she owns a car, Jerusalem resident Leah Rosen, one of the instigators of the petition, saw the train as the best option for commuting to her job at Tel Aviv University.
"I live in the southern part of Jerusalem, and it's easier to get to the Malha railway station than to the Central Bus Station. It's easier on the train to concentrate, get work done."
Since the change, she has been actively seeking other options, like forming a carpool. "If you claim that commuters from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv don't deserve a railroad, that they could take their cars and buses, then I think a value decision is being made here. You're leaving the people from Jerusalem in the lurch. You're saying these people aren't important."
She thinks the lack of immediate, effective commuting options may cause people to leave the city. "Does the mayor want people to leave Jerusalem?" she wonders.
When asked what the city is doing to improve commuting options between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, Gidi Schmerling, Jerusalem Municipality spokesman, offered the following statement: "The municipality works with the government in order to improve transportation to and from Jerusalem, including the new railway line and road number 9."
However, he explained that the government is responsible for most inter-city transport projects.
In a telephone interview, Avner Ovadia, spokesman of the Ministry of Transportation, responded to the complaint made by Jerusalem train commuters: "You have to provide a solution for the majority."
Serving Beit Shemesh, he clarifies, was a top factor in the decision to upgrade the line in the first place. "It was supposed to give an answer to Beit Shemesh and Tel Aviv in addition to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv," he says. "It's important to connect the capital of Israel to other cities. Once you connect it to Beit Shemesh, you connect it to the rest of the chain."
He adds that the upcoming high-speed line will not provide a solution for Beit Shemesh commuters.
Transportation consultant Hirsch sympathizes with the reasons behind the split. But, he adds, the train may have defeated its original purpose - to connect Jerusalem with Beit Shemesh. "Now it's easier for Beit Shemesh residents to travel to Tel Aviv. Once they would have come to Jerusalem."
THE TRAIN arrives in Beit Shemesh on time at 10:38 a.m. It's not rush hour, so the transfer goes smoothly. Passengers walk through a short tunnel to reach the next platform, where the train is waiting.
The carriages are fuller, with a ratio of about four seats per passenger. Jay Haberfield of Ramat Beit Shemesh is among them. He happened to have taken the off-peak train to his job at a bank in Tel Aviv. A few minutes into the ride, he fiddles with some paperwork, and shares his pleasure at the Israel Railways move to split the journey at Beit Shemesh.
"We were experiencing constant delays," he explains. "Before this change Beit Shemesh riders depended on trains coming from Jerusalem, and they constantly came in late five to 15 minutes every day."
As a case in point, he cites the train accident that occurred the day the split went into effect. "Had the change not gone into effect that day it would have been two to three hours late."
On top of that, inbound Jerusalem trains couldn't always accommodate all Beit Shemesh passengers since the winding tracks from Jerusalem and Beit Shemesh could only service trains with a limited number of cars. Now, at peak hours, the Beit Shemesh-Tel Aviv line runs double-decker trains.
So far no statistics are available regarding any hike in the number of Beit Shemesh-Tel Aviv commuters as a result of the split. Any increase, however, has already come at the expense of some Jerusalem residents, rendering the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line even less frequented.
"I sometimes took the train until they stopped having the direct train," explains Benji, a commuter. "Now I'd have to take the train that leaves at 6:59 a.m. To do that, I'd have to leave my house a little after 6:30 a.m. and I'd get to the train station in Tel Aviv at around 8:30 a.m."
Since he doesn't own a car, he opted for the bus. Riding the bus now, he says, cuts the ride to Tel Aviv by about a half hour.
"The train would have been an option had they met their schedule before they made the split in Beit Shemesh. I would have taken the train much more often. At that point the extra five, 10 minutes made the time even longer, much too long."
A variety of factors affects commuters' decision to choose between train, bus, or car: economics, scheduling, location of residence in Jerusalem and location of Tel Aviv destination. But unless commuters live right near the start or end point, the length of the ride from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv is likely to reach three hours round-trip door to door, no matter which method is chosen.
Talpiot resident Hillel traveled via bus to, and a train from, his job at an insurance company in Tel Aviv before receiving a company car.
"The bus took about 80 to 90 minutes, sometimes a bit more. In the rain it took two and half hours, which was crazy. The train coming back always took 80 minutes, but I haven't taken it since they changed it. I couldn't bear to go now that you have to change trains."
Fortunately, he received the company car, whose relative value is deducted from his salary, not long before the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv split. But driving a car, he warns, is fraught with its fair share of annoyances. "It's too expensive to drive every day from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv and it's a nasty ride - it's long, dangerous and tiring."
His experience reveals that during rush hour, a driver is likely to sit in traffic for a minimum of 90 minutes. To avoid a long car ride, he makes a point to travel off-hours, but is now considering moving to Beit Shemesh, Modi'in or Ra'anana when his lease is up. "If I move to Beit Shemesh I'll take the train every day so I could make productive use of the time, for davening [praying] or working - and meeting people."
But some train commuters, like MBA student and Jerusalem resident Temima Taragin, aren't bothered enough by the split to give up on train transport. She still travels via train to her job right near the Hashalom Station.
"What I like about the train is that it's very quiet and I like doing my school work. This way I'm not distracted by other things at home - television, shopping. If you're there you might as well make the most of it."
(BOX #1) You decide!
For those commuters still unsure of the best way to get to Tel Aviv, here's a list of pros and cons:
Train
Pros:
1. The idyllic countryside between Beit Shemesh and Jerusalem
2. Tables and ample legroom for a comfortable ride
3. Environmental friendliness
4. The pleasant (and often empty) Malha Station
5. Patriotism
Cons:
1. Current length of ride (90 minutes)
2. No cellphone service for part of the ride
3. The price (NIS 19; round trip, NIS 34.50)
4. The new Beit Shemesh transfer
5. Infrequency (every hour from Jerusalem)
Bus
Pros:
1. On off-peak hours it takes only 50 minutes
2. Relative reliability
3. The price (NIS 17.70, round trip, NIS 30.10 )
4. Frequency of the lines (on average every 15 minutes)
5. Take part in a bona-fide Israeli experience
Cons:
1. The rowdy, crowded Central Bus Station
2. Feeling like a sardine inside the bus during rush hour
3. Car sickness
4. Inability to read or work
5. Risk of road congestion
Car
Pros:
1. Schedule control
2. AC control
3. Radio station, music control
4. Door to door service
5. Car also serves as intra-city transport
Cons:
1. Buying and maintaining a car
2. Cost of gas
3. Full concentration required
4. Parking worries
5. More dangerous than public transportation - O.A.
(BOX #2) Panacea or pain?
A number of transportation projects are currently in the works to provide long-term solutions to traffic, congestion and immobility within and en-route to Jerusalem. Some Jerusalem drivers complain that the construction involved in installing new roads and rails has only made city traffic less smooth and convenient. Time will tell whether or not these mass transportation investments will clear the path for better transport.
The High-Speed Railway
Israel Railways is currently paving the roads for the Jerusalem- Tel Aviv high-speed line, which will connect the two cities via Modi'in and Ben-Gurion Airport.
The project combines innovative transportation technology never before used in Israel, including the building of an underground train station at the Jerusalem International Convention Center and a tunnel 11.5 kilometers long.
Length of ride: 28 minutes Jerusalem-Tel Aviv; 17 minutes Tel Aviv-Mod'iin.
Frequency: Three trains per hour
Estimated completion of Tel Aviv-Modi'in line: October 2007
Estimated completion of Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line: 2011
Construction cost: NIS 4 billion
The Light Rail: The Red Line
The light rail, which last November laid its first track, is slated to make intra-city travel to the city center and the Central Bus Station more efficient and accessible. The first light rail will take passengers through 24 stations from Pisgat Ze'ev to Mount Herzl via the city center, and will serve more than 200,000 passengers a day on its 46 cars.
Length of ride: 28 minutes during rush hour
Frequency: Rush hour: every 4 minutes; Off-peak: every 8-12 minutes
Estimated completion: January 2009
Construction cost: NIS 4.3 billion
HGB High Grade Bus: The Blue Line
The Blue Line will connect north and south Jerusalem, from Gilo to Ramot via the city center, using an updated, state-of-the-art bus system. These new buses will feature hybrid engines and seating for 180 passengers. Traffic lights will change automatically to give immediate right of way to oncoming buses. Part of the infrastructure for this line is already in place and now serves regular Egged busses.
Length of ride: Approximately 30 minutes during rush hour
Frequency: Rush hour, every 3-5 minutes; off-peak, every 6-10 minutes
Estimated completion of infrastructure: August 2008
Construction cost: NIS 180 million (not including buses)
Route 9
Route 9 is currently being constructed to connect the Motza region to neighborhoods in northern Jerusalem via the intersection at Golda Meir Boulevard and the Begin highway. This road is designed to provide a new access point into the city from the main Jerusalem- Tel Aviv highway and therefore to ease congestion at the main Jerusalem entrance.
Construction Cost: NIS 480 million
Estimated completion: Jerusalem Day 2007
A love store story
Jerusalem Post, In Jerusalem; February 9, 2007
Lior Shabo, co-owner of Sense in the center of town, was a little nervous when he first opened his shop over two years ago and created a little counter for products meant to liven up bedroom activities, things like flavored erotic oils, games for couples, and body chocolate.
"We had many doubts in the beginning," he says. "We didn't know how the public would perceive this store."
Idit Ben-Haim, a pioneer in the Jerusalem "love" business, experienced similar doubts when opening Lo.Ve.La on bustling Rehov Emek Refaim in the summer of 2004. She soon found her doubts unfounded.
"When we opened, it took a while for people to say 'we're open- minded, we want to check it out,'" she says. "Now people are more eager."
Shabo and Ben Haim are now preparing for Valentine's Day, increasing their stock of love products - from heart shaped knick- knacks to sensual body creams - to accommodate a steadily growing, diverse clientele. Unlike classic sex shops, their stores have become an integrated, mainstream part of the city's commercial landscape.
The original intention of Shabo and his partner Tal Mizrahi, both 29 years old and self-proclaimed "romantics at birth," was to open a shop for spa, body, and home decor products. The duo soon realized that the Jerusalem market was more adventurous than originally predicted, and his little "love corner" soon grew into a separate department.
"People asked for more because they never really encountered such products," recalls Shabo. A year after the store opened, he knocked out the storage room upstairs and transformed it into a private area especially designed to house products that may make some Jerusalemites blush: edible panties, furry lingerie, and instruction books. He keeps a special drawer for vibrators and dildos. But Shabo is offended when his store is called a "sex shop."
"We don't deal with sex, but with foreplay, and the way for couples to express their feelings through this process," he explains.
Lo.Ve.La, a play on the words "love" and "lo ve'la" (in Hebrew "him and her") was a risque endeavor from the start. The 35-year- old entrepreneur left her job as a hotel events director to pursue this pent-up ambition.
Her vision was to create a space and atmosphere where women and couples of all cultural and religious orientations could walk in and, with little shame, receive advice not just about "love" products, but about creative ways to liven up their relationships. Gentle lighting, warm fabrics, decorative beads, and a friendly sales staff put customers at ease, making them feel as if they are walking into an elegant gift shop. The more hardcore items, like sex toys and dildos, however, are on display in a back room, available for examination upon request.
"I was afraid to sell sex toys in the store, then I realized that the demand was so great, I had to," she recalls. The idea of Lo.Ve.La caught on quickly, and she has set up mini "chains" of Lo.Ve.La products within gift and body care shops throughout the country. Even a gift shop on Rehov Sheinkin, Tel Aviv's trendy center, features a Lo.Ve.La corner.
That such shops, that approach the subject of intimacy without the potential sleaze, have made their home in the Holy City shouldn't come too much as a surprise.
"Jerusalem is very different than Tel Aviv," explains Ben Haim. "They don't speak the same language. In Tel Aviv you can go to a club and they have 'S&M' night What's nice in Jerusalem is that there are still values. In Tel Aviv nothing's sacred anymore."
The religious community, in fact, is a natural market for products meant to enhance sexual activity within relationships, at least "kosher" ones.
Satisfying intimacy in marriage is an important value among religious couples, says certified sex counselor and urogynecological physical therapist Talli Y. Rosenbaum, who is modern Orthodox. "Every woman - it really doesn't matter if she's religious or not - is entitled to enhance her sexuality and, as a result, improve the intimacy as a couple. It would not be surprising that religious women, like any woman, would want to do what they can to enhance the intimacy of their sex lives."
This includes the use of oils, games, and vibrators. "Religious couples generally approach sexuality and intimacy with a sense of privacy and modesty, values which I advocate."
As a result, love products and dildos should be packaged tastefully and discreetly if they are to appeal to a religious community, but Rosenbaum cautions, "They should be used to enhance marital intimacy and not as a substitute for a healthy sexual relationship."
A conservative approach to sex aides is taken by Rabbi Elyashiv Knohl, author of Ish V'isha (translated literally, Man and Woman), a halachic guidebook for religious couples. He is not familiar with love shops, but thinks that the use of tools like vibrators need not apply to couples with healthy relationships.
"These things are for couples that need some kind of treatment," he says. "I don't see them as a tool for a couple that, thank God, functions normally A couple should find interest in each other. They don't need outside stimulation."
Walking into such love or sex shops doesn't require a rabbi's approval; the question is what they purchase. If a couple is having intimacy problems, he suggests that they consult their rabbi.
Rosenbaum, who also treats women with sexual problems, is often referred to by rabbis. She believes that certain sexual tools may be helpful, but adds: "I would hesitate to send them directly to a sex shop. I work with suppliers who deal with these products in a discreet and modest manner."
Beverley Damelin, a sex educator who runs workshops in Jerusalem and founding editor of dinahproject.com, a sex information Web site, offers consumer advice to potential "love" and sex shop patrons.
She recommends researching products to make informed purchases. "Stores can be helpful and a lot of fun, and there is something very positive to be gained with experimenting, but you may not necessarily be getting the right information," she says, explaining that salespeople are often not qualified health specialists.
"When you have people who come into a store who don't do this very often, they are often gullible and can be talked into buying unsuitable products from people with little authority on this subject."
And for those who have no partner for whom to buy something on Valentine's Day, she offers some words of comfort.
"Valentine's Day can be an abuse of commercialism, and so many people are made to feel inadequate by it, rather than better. If there is something you might want, why not get it for yourself?"
Lior Shabo, co-owner of Sense in the center of town, was a little nervous when he first opened his shop over two years ago and created a little counter for products meant to liven up bedroom activities, things like flavored erotic oils, games for couples, and body chocolate.
"We had many doubts in the beginning," he says. "We didn't know how the public would perceive this store."
Idit Ben-Haim, a pioneer in the Jerusalem "love" business, experienced similar doubts when opening Lo.Ve.La on bustling Rehov Emek Refaim in the summer of 2004. She soon found her doubts unfounded.
"When we opened, it took a while for people to say 'we're open- minded, we want to check it out,'" she says. "Now people are more eager."
Shabo and Ben Haim are now preparing for Valentine's Day, increasing their stock of love products - from heart shaped knick- knacks to sensual body creams - to accommodate a steadily growing, diverse clientele. Unlike classic sex shops, their stores have become an integrated, mainstream part of the city's commercial landscape.
The original intention of Shabo and his partner Tal Mizrahi, both 29 years old and self-proclaimed "romantics at birth," was to open a shop for spa, body, and home decor products. The duo soon realized that the Jerusalem market was more adventurous than originally predicted, and his little "love corner" soon grew into a separate department.
"People asked for more because they never really encountered such products," recalls Shabo. A year after the store opened, he knocked out the storage room upstairs and transformed it into a private area especially designed to house products that may make some Jerusalemites blush: edible panties, furry lingerie, and instruction books. He keeps a special drawer for vibrators and dildos. But Shabo is offended when his store is called a "sex shop."
"We don't deal with sex, but with foreplay, and the way for couples to express their feelings through this process," he explains.
Lo.Ve.La, a play on the words "love" and "lo ve'la" (in Hebrew "him and her") was a risque endeavor from the start. The 35-year- old entrepreneur left her job as a hotel events director to pursue this pent-up ambition.
Her vision was to create a space and atmosphere where women and couples of all cultural and religious orientations could walk in and, with little shame, receive advice not just about "love" products, but about creative ways to liven up their relationships. Gentle lighting, warm fabrics, decorative beads, and a friendly sales staff put customers at ease, making them feel as if they are walking into an elegant gift shop. The more hardcore items, like sex toys and dildos, however, are on display in a back room, available for examination upon request.
"I was afraid to sell sex toys in the store, then I realized that the demand was so great, I had to," she recalls. The idea of Lo.Ve.La caught on quickly, and she has set up mini "chains" of Lo.Ve.La products within gift and body care shops throughout the country. Even a gift shop on Rehov Sheinkin, Tel Aviv's trendy center, features a Lo.Ve.La corner.
That such shops, that approach the subject of intimacy without the potential sleaze, have made their home in the Holy City shouldn't come too much as a surprise.
"Jerusalem is very different than Tel Aviv," explains Ben Haim. "They don't speak the same language. In Tel Aviv you can go to a club and they have 'S&M' night What's nice in Jerusalem is that there are still values. In Tel Aviv nothing's sacred anymore."
The religious community, in fact, is a natural market for products meant to enhance sexual activity within relationships, at least "kosher" ones.
Satisfying intimacy in marriage is an important value among religious couples, says certified sex counselor and urogynecological physical therapist Talli Y. Rosenbaum, who is modern Orthodox. "Every woman - it really doesn't matter if she's religious or not - is entitled to enhance her sexuality and, as a result, improve the intimacy as a couple. It would not be surprising that religious women, like any woman, would want to do what they can to enhance the intimacy of their sex lives."
This includes the use of oils, games, and vibrators. "Religious couples generally approach sexuality and intimacy with a sense of privacy and modesty, values which I advocate."
As a result, love products and dildos should be packaged tastefully and discreetly if they are to appeal to a religious community, but Rosenbaum cautions, "They should be used to enhance marital intimacy and not as a substitute for a healthy sexual relationship."
A conservative approach to sex aides is taken by Rabbi Elyashiv Knohl, author of Ish V'isha (translated literally, Man and Woman), a halachic guidebook for religious couples. He is not familiar with love shops, but thinks that the use of tools like vibrators need not apply to couples with healthy relationships.
"These things are for couples that need some kind of treatment," he says. "I don't see them as a tool for a couple that, thank God, functions normally A couple should find interest in each other. They don't need outside stimulation."
Walking into such love or sex shops doesn't require a rabbi's approval; the question is what they purchase. If a couple is having intimacy problems, he suggests that they consult their rabbi.
Rosenbaum, who also treats women with sexual problems, is often referred to by rabbis. She believes that certain sexual tools may be helpful, but adds: "I would hesitate to send them directly to a sex shop. I work with suppliers who deal with these products in a discreet and modest manner."
Beverley Damelin, a sex educator who runs workshops in Jerusalem and founding editor of dinahproject.com, a sex information Web site, offers consumer advice to potential "love" and sex shop patrons.
She recommends researching products to make informed purchases. "Stores can be helpful and a lot of fun, and there is something very positive to be gained with experimenting, but you may not necessarily be getting the right information," she says, explaining that salespeople are often not qualified health specialists.
"When you have people who come into a store who don't do this very often, they are often gullible and can be talked into buying unsuitable products from people with little authority on this subject."
And for those who have no partner for whom to buy something on Valentine's Day, she offers some words of comfort.
"Valentine's Day can be an abuse of commercialism, and so many people are made to feel inadequate by it, rather than better. If there is something you might want, why not get it for yourself?"
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