The Jewish Journal: December 17, 2008
Click here for original and video!
Adam Saaks doesn't consider himself particularly religious, except when it comes to custom "cuTour," his term for circumcising T-shirts. For Saaks, custom designing T-shirts by nipping and tucking the hems, cutting and lacing-up the sides, and netting and looping the front -- using only scissors and tweezers -- isn't a mere fashion upgrade, but a religious experience.
Saaks is the exclusive T-shirt mohel (circumciser) for the fashion lines of French designer Christian Audigier. He specializes in Ed Hardy, the line incorporating designs of American tattoo artist Don Ed Hardy. The T-shirts are known for their colorful skulls, hearts, crossbones and flowers intertwined with messages like "Love Kills Slowly" and "Death or Glory." They are a status symbol of "coolness" for young and old alike.
Saaks travels the world, making appearances at fashion shows, nightclubs and department stores, eight-inch chrome blades in hand, ready to transform -- in a matter of minutes -- already eye-catching, provocative T-shirts into sexualized form-fitted tops and dresses.
The final products might make the parents of any nice Jewish girl blush, even though Saaks counts among his devoted clients Jewish women -- and their mothers.
"I went to Hebrew school on Saturday or Sunday -- I don't remember -- and became a skateboarder and outcast," Saaks said.
The Journal met with the 36-year-old artist at the flagship, multiroomed Christian Audigier store on the corner of Melrose and Fairfax avenues, a day before his trip to Egypt for the wedding of former Spice Girl Melanie Brown. Why not make a stop in Israel?
"I don't have time," he said, although it's likely he'd be a big hit at the Ed Hardy store in Tel Aviv.
Saaks' assimilation was preceded by that of his grandfather, who shortened the family name from "Isaaks" to "Saaks" when he came to America from Romania. The change was prophetic: Saaks' girlfriend, a Croation-Swedish model, pointed out that sax means "scissors" in Swedish.
By the time his older siblings celebrated their bar mitzvahs, his parents grew less strict with tradition, not that he cared much.
Lately, though, he has developed a renewed Jewish pride, thanks in part to his belated bar mitzvah in Paris last year by a rabbi he met at a fashion showroom.
"This rabbi told me, 'You weren't bar mitzvahed? We'll bar mitzvah you now!' He put those straps on my arm and the box on my forehead, and I recited stuff."
Normally he wears a Star of David consisting of a white gold chain, a white gold star and a charm of white platinum scissors studded with diamonds.
A wardrobe stylist for 10 years before moving to Los Angeles in 2001, Saaks said his talent was revealed to him at a trade show in Las Vegas in 2001. While he was helping a friend launch a T-shirt line, "one girl passing by wanted a shirt cut like something on the rack. I pulled her aside, did two cuts and drew a crowd of 50 people. They didn't leave until I finished the shirt."
Now he charges anywhere from $350 for a single brit milah (circumcision) to $5,000 for a booked event. His designs are sold off the rack at the Melrose store, but there is nothing like getting the T-shirt personally sliced on the wearer. All the wearer needs is a little faith.
Saaks' promotional tours have surely helped the Ed Hardy line get more exposure (or shall we say, "overexposure"). Billboards dominate Los Angeles, celebrities prance around town wearing Audigier designs, but there may be another Jewish twist to Audigier's success.
"We have mezuzahs all over the place. Christian has them on his house, on his office," Saaks said, referring to the ritual boxes placed on doorposts of Jewish homes and businesses enclosing the sacred Jewish prayer to love God. "It's not a Jewish-run company at all, but his mentors are pretty religious, people he grew up with, so they're always guarding him."
Indeed, all of the doors at the store had mezuzahs on them -- but the cheap, uninspiring plastic variety the sofer (scribe) usually gives for free with the scroll. Audigier, with the help of Saaks and his Jewish friends, might want to think about a mezuzah line -- minus the skulls and crossbones, but preserving the florals and the message, "love."
This would certainly promote another mitzvah (commandment), in addition to circumcision -- the Hardy way.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Made in China
Jerusalem Post, Up Front; October 3, 2008
Click here for original
Just days after the Olympics' closing ceremony in Beijing, businessman Sheldon Adelson shows he's reaching for the tourism gold in China. The writer was a guest of the Venetian Macao Resort Hotel.
I was first introduced to Macao, like many other Israelis, through the popular reality show following psychic Uri Geller's quest to find an Israeli to carry his spoon-bending legacy. One of the prizes: a show in "Asia's Las Vegas," Macao, a special administrative region in China where gambling is legal.
What does Macao have to do with Israel? The man behind the transformation of the area is American Jewish multibillionaire Sheldon Adelson, CEO of the publicly- traded Las Vegas Sands, also a lover of Israel.
Geller's successor, Lior Suchard, has yet to bend spoons (or chopsticks) in Macao. He's focusing on Europe and the US first, says his manager, Yaron Ofer.
But my curiosity about Macao remained. As a Los Angeles native, I fondly recall traveling in my family's motor-home to Las Vegas as a child and returning there as soon as I turned 21. So I was delighted when The Venetian Macao Resort Hotel welcomed me as the lone Israeli correspondent for an Asian press tour of the opening of the Four Seasons Hotel.
My host told me in advance that Macao is first and foremost an Asian destination, catering to Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, Thais, Filipinos, Indians, Malaysians, etc. With half of the world's population within a five-hour plane ride, who needs to market to seven million Israelis? My first instinct upon stepping off the hour-long ferry from Hong Kong (following an 11-hour flight from Tel Aviv) was to compare and contrast to Sin City.
The weather was hot, but unlike the Nevada desert, very humid. I noticed many square, discolored pastel towers - the kind that dominate the Hong Kong skyline - but no gargantuan Vegas-style hotels, until I passed the Sands, a shiny black, circular edifice. Only the Wynn Macao, a copycat of the curved, metallic resort owned by another Jewish Vegas titan, Steve Wynn, could compete in architectural elegance.
Located on the Macao peninsula jutting out from southern China, the Sands opened in 2004 as an interim project to satisfy Adelson's China ambitions while the foundations were being laid for The Venetian Macao. He hit the jackpot. The Sands returned its $265 million investment in less than a year. Since opening a year ago, The Venetian has welcomed more than 20 million visitors.
I stood outside The Venetian, focused on the Italian facades and imagined myself not in Venice, but on Las Vegas Boulevard. The enlarged version of the Vegas original is the cornerstone of the "Cotai Strip," not an organically grown "strip" but a registered trademark that refers to all Sands properties being built along the 1.2 kilometer stretch of drained marshland connecting the islands of Taipa and Coloane.
Once complete in 2011, the Cotai Strip will include 14 popular hotel brands, owned by the Las Vegas Sands but operated by the respective hotels. A Vegas-style skyline is gradually emerging with the current construction of the Shangri-la, Sheraton, St. Regis and Traders hotels. Costing $13 billion, the Cotai Strip is undoubtedly the largest commercial tourism project ever undertaken.
The Venetian has already transformed Macao into the most attractive gaming center in Asia, but Adelson's vision goes far beyond casinos. He envisions Macao, like Vegas, as a center for business and entertainment.
Like its Vegas counterpart, The Venetian Macao was conceived as an integrated resort. Suites are designed like mini-apartments. In Macao, casinos account for 5 percent of the property; convention and exhibition space, 10%. A 15,000-seat arena has already hosted pop icons Beyonce and Celine Dion, with Avril Lavigne coming up. The press tour included the premiere of Asia's first permanent Cirque De Soleil, Zaia, a spectacular show under normal circumstances but somewhat of a yawn on the heels of the Olympics opening ceremonies.
AS I WANDERED alone through The Venetian casino on my first night, my personal fantasies of Vegas-style fun, however, begin to slip away. Slots don't flash jackpot numbers amid sounds of coins clanking. No scantily clad cocktail waitresses strut by tables, doling out free booze. Macao apparently doesn't need such casino gimmicks to lure players. Gambling is a Chinese obsession. Players sat at the tables, mostly baccarat, looking focused and serious.
I scoured the tables for blackjack, my favorite, but I heard absolutely no English and players hardly made eye contact with me. While aces and face cards are a universal language, I couldn't help but feel somewhat deaf and mute and I always like to schmooze while I play. There's nothing like the communal cheer when the dealer busts or the communal moan when the dealer hits 21. I call it quits before I start.
But the Zionist in me was comforted as I watched people's chips dwindle. Without their knowing it, Asians are indirectly contributing to Israel. Macao initiatives, gambling revenues included, have made Adelson the third richest man in the US, according to Forbes. Israel and Jewish causes have benefitted from his riches. Adelson is a key contributor to Taglit-birthright israel, Yad Vashem and other educational institutions in Israel and Las Vegas.
Still, I went to sleep in my fluffy bed missing the true Las Vegas vibe, so for breakfast I took comfort in the Starbucks near the lobby. Among the chicken and pork pies, I chose a chocolate croissant, which turned out, to my dismay, hard and chewy.
Starbucks isn't the only American staple in Macao. The Venetian's Grande Canal Shoppes is an American capitalistic wonderland. With ceilings mimicking a sky, it's among the largest malls I've ever seen, loaded with familiar brand names. Clowns and gondoliers provided family entertainment. At the soy-smelling food court, families looked happy eating Chinese fast food, shopping bags in tow. While eager for Asian cuisine, I felt overwhelmed by the myriad of pork, oyster, clam and beef noodle offerings, so I went for the safe noodle: spaghetti.
If I thought The Venetian's Grand Canal Shoppes were impressive, the adjoining Shoppes at the new Four Seasons hotel made them look like a shouk. The high-end indoor mall could easily outdo Rodeo Drive with its number of designer shops. Only the best of the best for Asia's new rich and rising middle-class: Dior, Fendi, Prada, you name it. Walking across the fresh marble adorned with mosaics, I felt the poorest I ever have - in communist China.
BUT I DIDN'T come to Macao to enjoy America, right? I hoped a city tour would offer me more authentic Chinese experiences, not that Macao is the ideal place for them. It was a Portuguese colony until 1999. Pink pastel Portuguese villas alongside the gritty towers testify to its European roots.
In the city center, small roads and alleys lead out of a rather dreary European-style piazza. Popular retail brands like Esprit and Levis have set up shop alongside modest storefronts. An outdoor market sells discount clothing. Street vendors sell Chinese noodles and what look like fresh pork rinds. My tour guide, Sunny Pou, a Macao native, points to many locked metal doors. The new industry has led to a rise in rent, causing some merchants to close or move.
In his broken English, Pou says some locals bemoan Macao's modernization, while others recognize its blessings, particularly more jobs. The Venetian has generated some 12,000. A "back of the house" tour of The Venetian reveals a mini-town for its "team members," equipped with a recreation center, a 7-11 and McDonald's (for that Big Mac-ao). As part of the formal press tour, the Las Vegas Sands unveiled plans for the Adelson Advanced Education Center at the University of Macau (the Portuguese spelled it with a "u") to groom managers in non-gaming businesses.
With all these material developments, however, China's "Sin City" doesn't lack spirituality. Macao's population is split Buddhist and Catholic, and the city's centuries-old Catholic churches and Buddhist temples appeared just as bustling as the casinos.
At night, Macao lights up. With the exception of the American brands, the hotels try too hard. The Chinese art of feng shui, apparently, doesn't apply to exteriors. Some are cluttered with bulbs flashing in primary colors. I'm drawn to the Grand Lisboa, a large hotel designed like an electrified lotus, the symbol of Macao. It is owned by businessman Stanley Ho, who monopolized gaming in Macao before it opened to foreign investors.
Tacky crystal beads dangled from the ceilings amid cigarette smoke. The players appeared scruffier than those at The Venetian. I immediately understood the appeal of Vegas imports: They offer spaciousness, refinement and American-style service. When three women in studded bras and thongs came out dancing at a lounge bar, I longed to return to the cleaner-cut Venetian.
The next morning my hunger for friendly Asian cuisine was finally satisfied at the Bambu buffet. Designed according to feng shui with comfortable booths and bamboo decor, the buffet served made-to-order eggs alongside a delicious choice of sushi, dim sum, miso soup, noodles, fruit and scrumptious croissants. It was a bona fide blend of Asia and Vegas.
Finally, the media events kicked off, and I was transported from Vegas to Hollywood. At the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the posh Four Seasons hotel, Adelson, 75 (who suffers from peripheral neuropathy that impairs his ability to walk), leaned on his Israeli wife, Dr. Miriam Adelson, as he cut the ribbon. He might as well have been Paris Hilton from the way the Asian paparazzi shoved me to get a good shot. Unfortunately, I had to catch a plane before red carpet events inaugurated the hotel with local celebs.
At the press conference over lunch, I asked Adelson if the Cotai Strip intends to attract Europeans and Americans.
"There's another country you forgot to mention: Russia," he answered while being simultaneously translated into Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese and Korean. "The Russian market is a very big market, and we have reason to believe that we're going to attract Russians. It's closer for Eastern Europeans to come to Macao than it is to go to Las Vegas. For England, I would say it's probably equidistant... There are a lot of markets to which Macao is as equally attractive as Las Vegas."
But as an Israeli-American, I often felt like the alienated Scarlett Johansson character in the film Lost in Translation, leading me to believe that the Western traveler would best enjoy Macao as part of a business trip or broader tour to Asia, with companions, good guides and a healthy budget.
Or I have another idea. Adelson should create a new hotel in Vegas, The Chinesian, to allow the Westerner to experience the best of China in America, because he's doing a mind-bending job bringing the best of America (well, I guess that's debatable) to the Far East.
Click here for original
Just days after the Olympics' closing ceremony in Beijing, businessman Sheldon Adelson shows he's reaching for the tourism gold in China. The writer was a guest of the Venetian Macao Resort Hotel.
I was first introduced to Macao, like many other Israelis, through the popular reality show following psychic Uri Geller's quest to find an Israeli to carry his spoon-bending legacy. One of the prizes: a show in "Asia's Las Vegas," Macao, a special administrative region in China where gambling is legal.
What does Macao have to do with Israel? The man behind the transformation of the area is American Jewish multibillionaire Sheldon Adelson, CEO of the publicly- traded Las Vegas Sands, also a lover of Israel.
Geller's successor, Lior Suchard, has yet to bend spoons (or chopsticks) in Macao. He's focusing on Europe and the US first, says his manager, Yaron Ofer.
But my curiosity about Macao remained. As a Los Angeles native, I fondly recall traveling in my family's motor-home to Las Vegas as a child and returning there as soon as I turned 21. So I was delighted when The Venetian Macao Resort Hotel welcomed me as the lone Israeli correspondent for an Asian press tour of the opening of the Four Seasons Hotel.
My host told me in advance that Macao is first and foremost an Asian destination, catering to Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, Thais, Filipinos, Indians, Malaysians, etc. With half of the world's population within a five-hour plane ride, who needs to market to seven million Israelis? My first instinct upon stepping off the hour-long ferry from Hong Kong (following an 11-hour flight from Tel Aviv) was to compare and contrast to Sin City.
The weather was hot, but unlike the Nevada desert, very humid. I noticed many square, discolored pastel towers - the kind that dominate the Hong Kong skyline - but no gargantuan Vegas-style hotels, until I passed the Sands, a shiny black, circular edifice. Only the Wynn Macao, a copycat of the curved, metallic resort owned by another Jewish Vegas titan, Steve Wynn, could compete in architectural elegance.
Located on the Macao peninsula jutting out from southern China, the Sands opened in 2004 as an interim project to satisfy Adelson's China ambitions while the foundations were being laid for The Venetian Macao. He hit the jackpot. The Sands returned its $265 million investment in less than a year. Since opening a year ago, The Venetian has welcomed more than 20 million visitors.
I stood outside The Venetian, focused on the Italian facades and imagined myself not in Venice, but on Las Vegas Boulevard. The enlarged version of the Vegas original is the cornerstone of the "Cotai Strip," not an organically grown "strip" but a registered trademark that refers to all Sands properties being built along the 1.2 kilometer stretch of drained marshland connecting the islands of Taipa and Coloane.
Once complete in 2011, the Cotai Strip will include 14 popular hotel brands, owned by the Las Vegas Sands but operated by the respective hotels. A Vegas-style skyline is gradually emerging with the current construction of the Shangri-la, Sheraton, St. Regis and Traders hotels. Costing $13 billion, the Cotai Strip is undoubtedly the largest commercial tourism project ever undertaken.
The Venetian has already transformed Macao into the most attractive gaming center in Asia, but Adelson's vision goes far beyond casinos. He envisions Macao, like Vegas, as a center for business and entertainment.
Like its Vegas counterpart, The Venetian Macao was conceived as an integrated resort. Suites are designed like mini-apartments. In Macao, casinos account for 5 percent of the property; convention and exhibition space, 10%. A 15,000-seat arena has already hosted pop icons Beyonce and Celine Dion, with Avril Lavigne coming up. The press tour included the premiere of Asia's first permanent Cirque De Soleil, Zaia, a spectacular show under normal circumstances but somewhat of a yawn on the heels of the Olympics opening ceremonies.
AS I WANDERED alone through The Venetian casino on my first night, my personal fantasies of Vegas-style fun, however, begin to slip away. Slots don't flash jackpot numbers amid sounds of coins clanking. No scantily clad cocktail waitresses strut by tables, doling out free booze. Macao apparently doesn't need such casino gimmicks to lure players. Gambling is a Chinese obsession. Players sat at the tables, mostly baccarat, looking focused and serious.
I scoured the tables for blackjack, my favorite, but I heard absolutely no English and players hardly made eye contact with me. While aces and face cards are a universal language, I couldn't help but feel somewhat deaf and mute and I always like to schmooze while I play. There's nothing like the communal cheer when the dealer busts or the communal moan when the dealer hits 21. I call it quits before I start.
But the Zionist in me was comforted as I watched people's chips dwindle. Without their knowing it, Asians are indirectly contributing to Israel. Macao initiatives, gambling revenues included, have made Adelson the third richest man in the US, according to Forbes. Israel and Jewish causes have benefitted from his riches. Adelson is a key contributor to Taglit-birthright israel, Yad Vashem and other educational institutions in Israel and Las Vegas.
Still, I went to sleep in my fluffy bed missing the true Las Vegas vibe, so for breakfast I took comfort in the Starbucks near the lobby. Among the chicken and pork pies, I chose a chocolate croissant, which turned out, to my dismay, hard and chewy.
Starbucks isn't the only American staple in Macao. The Venetian's Grande Canal Shoppes is an American capitalistic wonderland. With ceilings mimicking a sky, it's among the largest malls I've ever seen, loaded with familiar brand names. Clowns and gondoliers provided family entertainment. At the soy-smelling food court, families looked happy eating Chinese fast food, shopping bags in tow. While eager for Asian cuisine, I felt overwhelmed by the myriad of pork, oyster, clam and beef noodle offerings, so I went for the safe noodle: spaghetti.
If I thought The Venetian's Grand Canal Shoppes were impressive, the adjoining Shoppes at the new Four Seasons hotel made them look like a shouk. The high-end indoor mall could easily outdo Rodeo Drive with its number of designer shops. Only the best of the best for Asia's new rich and rising middle-class: Dior, Fendi, Prada, you name it. Walking across the fresh marble adorned with mosaics, I felt the poorest I ever have - in communist China.
BUT I DIDN'T come to Macao to enjoy America, right? I hoped a city tour would offer me more authentic Chinese experiences, not that Macao is the ideal place for them. It was a Portuguese colony until 1999. Pink pastel Portuguese villas alongside the gritty towers testify to its European roots.
In the city center, small roads and alleys lead out of a rather dreary European-style piazza. Popular retail brands like Esprit and Levis have set up shop alongside modest storefronts. An outdoor market sells discount clothing. Street vendors sell Chinese noodles and what look like fresh pork rinds. My tour guide, Sunny Pou, a Macao native, points to many locked metal doors. The new industry has led to a rise in rent, causing some merchants to close or move.
In his broken English, Pou says some locals bemoan Macao's modernization, while others recognize its blessings, particularly more jobs. The Venetian has generated some 12,000. A "back of the house" tour of The Venetian reveals a mini-town for its "team members," equipped with a recreation center, a 7-11 and McDonald's (for that Big Mac-ao). As part of the formal press tour, the Las Vegas Sands unveiled plans for the Adelson Advanced Education Center at the University of Macau (the Portuguese spelled it with a "u") to groom managers in non-gaming businesses.
With all these material developments, however, China's "Sin City" doesn't lack spirituality. Macao's population is split Buddhist and Catholic, and the city's centuries-old Catholic churches and Buddhist temples appeared just as bustling as the casinos.
At night, Macao lights up. With the exception of the American brands, the hotels try too hard. The Chinese art of feng shui, apparently, doesn't apply to exteriors. Some are cluttered with bulbs flashing in primary colors. I'm drawn to the Grand Lisboa, a large hotel designed like an electrified lotus, the symbol of Macao. It is owned by businessman Stanley Ho, who monopolized gaming in Macao before it opened to foreign investors.
Tacky crystal beads dangled from the ceilings amid cigarette smoke. The players appeared scruffier than those at The Venetian. I immediately understood the appeal of Vegas imports: They offer spaciousness, refinement and American-style service. When three women in studded bras and thongs came out dancing at a lounge bar, I longed to return to the cleaner-cut Venetian.
The next morning my hunger for friendly Asian cuisine was finally satisfied at the Bambu buffet. Designed according to feng shui with comfortable booths and bamboo decor, the buffet served made-to-order eggs alongside a delicious choice of sushi, dim sum, miso soup, noodles, fruit and scrumptious croissants. It was a bona fide blend of Asia and Vegas.
Finally, the media events kicked off, and I was transported from Vegas to Hollywood. At the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the posh Four Seasons hotel, Adelson, 75 (who suffers from peripheral neuropathy that impairs his ability to walk), leaned on his Israeli wife, Dr. Miriam Adelson, as he cut the ribbon. He might as well have been Paris Hilton from the way the Asian paparazzi shoved me to get a good shot. Unfortunately, I had to catch a plane before red carpet events inaugurated the hotel with local celebs.
At the press conference over lunch, I asked Adelson if the Cotai Strip intends to attract Europeans and Americans.
"There's another country you forgot to mention: Russia," he answered while being simultaneously translated into Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese and Korean. "The Russian market is a very big market, and we have reason to believe that we're going to attract Russians. It's closer for Eastern Europeans to come to Macao than it is to go to Las Vegas. For England, I would say it's probably equidistant... There are a lot of markets to which Macao is as equally attractive as Las Vegas."
But as an Israeli-American, I often felt like the alienated Scarlett Johansson character in the film Lost in Translation, leading me to believe that the Western traveler would best enjoy Macao as part of a business trip or broader tour to Asia, with companions, good guides and a healthy budget.
Or I have another idea. Adelson should create a new hotel in Vegas, The Chinesian, to allow the Westerner to experience the best of China in America, because he's doing a mind-bending job bringing the best of America (well, I guess that's debatable) to the Far East.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Go ahead, gogle me
Jewish Journal; July 30, 2008
Click here for original
If someone's life is not worth at least one page of Google search results, does that mean he hasn't accomplished or written anything of enough import to be broadcast online?
I'd like to introduce a new verb to the dating lexicon: "Gogle," a combination of the words Google and "ogle."
One online dictionary defines "oglers" as those who ". . . look at especially with greedy or interested attention."
"Gogle" means to look up a person you want to date with greedy or interested attention using the popular search engine, Google.
I have been guilty of gogling, along with millions of other singles. Whenever I meet a guy, I always try to request a business card so I can get his last name. If I meet a guy online, I deduce his last name from his e-mail address. Then I punch it in Google to find out: Where does he work? What is his background? Has he published anything?
Unless the guy is a fellow writer or journalist, or unless he is semifamous, the search queries usually don't turn up results. At best, his name might be listed in a company Web site profile or some college club he belonged to years ago.
If someone's life is not worth at least one page of Google search results, does that mean he hasn't accomplished or written anything of enough import to be broadcast online? Does he lack ambition, achievement or creative output?
Then again, sometimes I'm relieved when the prospective date doesn't show up on Google. I cannot develop any preconceived notions about the man, and I begin from scratch in getting to know him. Google search results don't really reveal anything about a man's character -- and my deeper self cautions me against judging a man based on his outward accomplishments alone.
And what about men who gogle me? They come up with all kinds of good stuff -- much of it information I don't necessarily want them to know before they get to know me personally. I guess this is occupational hazard for someone who writes this kind of column.
A cursory reading of Google headlines that come up under my name might lead guys to conclude the following: I am a right-wing fanatical Zionist, I'm tired of Israeli men and I have 10 rules for men who date me. In part, I have a blogger to thank for this -- his colorful commentary and reposts of my most recent single columns always get ranked high, a fact of which he is proud.
Some search results seem completely random. For example, in my most recent top Google five, I appear as a writer for a neo-Zionist site that published my politically oriented blogs only three times, despite the fact that I haven't written for them in about a year.
I spoke with a Google spokesman about how the rankings work and to see if there is any way to control them. Google, as it turns out, is a cold, heartless machine.
"Google uses more than 200 different signals to determine relevancy and ranking of search results," I was told. "These include number of links, authority of a page [for example number of links posting to a page], the number of times key word appears on Web site."
The spokesperson asked not to be named; he probably didn't want to risk being gogled. But I did (revenge!) -- from what I gather he's a nice Jewish boy from California.
Google, apparently, doesn't care whose dating life it hurts.
"It's completely algorithmic. There is no human control on this so we don't have people deciding which Web site appears where," he said.
To influence the information that comes up on a Google search, he suggested I add more content that will be indexed by Google or, alternatively, contact the Web site posting information about me.
Fortunately, my own personal Web site still gets ranked No. 1 -- but what about the others that gossip about me or reprint my outdated thoughts?
Google makes some exceptions (so you know there is some human control). If a Web site publishes personally identifiable information about someone (such as a credit card or Social Security number), it will remove that page.
I guess whatever singles column or article I willingly post online is fair game. My articles, singles columns in particular, run the risk of being immortalized on the Internet.
This leads me to wonder if single men and women should come up with Google etiquette standards. Should we tell our date in advance that we have gogled him or her? Sometimes I feel like telling a date: "OK, tell me what you already know about me, and let's go from there."
Is it better to admit we've researched one another, or to pretend we haven't? Or maybe we should implement a rule that says: Daters shall not gogle a prospective date to preserve a sense of mystery and privacy.
I don't see that happening. Gogle has become just another form of ogling. It's just way too tempting.
Click here for original
If someone's life is not worth at least one page of Google search results, does that mean he hasn't accomplished or written anything of enough import to be broadcast online?
I'd like to introduce a new verb to the dating lexicon: "Gogle," a combination of the words Google and "ogle."
One online dictionary defines "oglers" as those who ". . . look at especially with greedy or interested attention."
"Gogle" means to look up a person you want to date with greedy or interested attention using the popular search engine, Google.
I have been guilty of gogling, along with millions of other singles. Whenever I meet a guy, I always try to request a business card so I can get his last name. If I meet a guy online, I deduce his last name from his e-mail address. Then I punch it in Google to find out: Where does he work? What is his background? Has he published anything?
Unless the guy is a fellow writer or journalist, or unless he is semifamous, the search queries usually don't turn up results. At best, his name might be listed in a company Web site profile or some college club he belonged to years ago.
If someone's life is not worth at least one page of Google search results, does that mean he hasn't accomplished or written anything of enough import to be broadcast online? Does he lack ambition, achievement or creative output?
Then again, sometimes I'm relieved when the prospective date doesn't show up on Google. I cannot develop any preconceived notions about the man, and I begin from scratch in getting to know him. Google search results don't really reveal anything about a man's character -- and my deeper self cautions me against judging a man based on his outward accomplishments alone.
And what about men who gogle me? They come up with all kinds of good stuff -- much of it information I don't necessarily want them to know before they get to know me personally. I guess this is occupational hazard for someone who writes this kind of column.
A cursory reading of Google headlines that come up under my name might lead guys to conclude the following: I am a right-wing fanatical Zionist, I'm tired of Israeli men and I have 10 rules for men who date me. In part, I have a blogger to thank for this -- his colorful commentary and reposts of my most recent single columns always get ranked high, a fact of which he is proud.
Some search results seem completely random. For example, in my most recent top Google five, I appear as a writer for a neo-Zionist site that published my politically oriented blogs only three times, despite the fact that I haven't written for them in about a year.
I spoke with a Google spokesman about how the rankings work and to see if there is any way to control them. Google, as it turns out, is a cold, heartless machine.
"Google uses more than 200 different signals to determine relevancy and ranking of search results," I was told. "These include number of links, authority of a page [for example number of links posting to a page], the number of times key word appears on Web site."
The spokesperson asked not to be named; he probably didn't want to risk being gogled. But I did (revenge!) -- from what I gather he's a nice Jewish boy from California.
Google, apparently, doesn't care whose dating life it hurts.
"It's completely algorithmic. There is no human control on this so we don't have people deciding which Web site appears where," he said.
To influence the information that comes up on a Google search, he suggested I add more content that will be indexed by Google or, alternatively, contact the Web site posting information about me.
Fortunately, my own personal Web site still gets ranked No. 1 -- but what about the others that gossip about me or reprint my outdated thoughts?
Google makes some exceptions (so you know there is some human control). If a Web site publishes personally identifiable information about someone (such as a credit card or Social Security number), it will remove that page.
I guess whatever singles column or article I willingly post online is fair game. My articles, singles columns in particular, run the risk of being immortalized on the Internet.
This leads me to wonder if single men and women should come up with Google etiquette standards. Should we tell our date in advance that we have gogled him or her? Sometimes I feel like telling a date: "OK, tell me what you already know about me, and let's go from there."
Is it better to admit we've researched one another, or to pretend we haven't? Or maybe we should implement a rule that says: Daters shall not gogle a prospective date to preserve a sense of mystery and privacy.
I don't see that happening. Gogle has become just another form of ogling. It's just way too tempting.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The new old city of Nazareth
Jerusalem Post, Metro; June 19, 2008
Click here for original
It's evening, and the narrow alleyways of the old Nazareth shuk look deserted except for a few children in jeans playing ball, women in headscarves carrying grocery bags, and European-looking backpackers meandering around as if they're lost. Dozens of metallic doors painted bright green line the corridors, shut with padlocks. Stone homes are patched up with cement to keep them insulated, their windows broken or sealed with plastic shutters. The only thing filling the shuk is the prayer call of the nearby White Mosque.
But there are pockets of revived beauty in the dilapidated shuk, also known as the Old City of Nazareth. Flower pots on a few sunny balconies supply spots of fresh color. Clean pavements and stairs are lit by fluorescent bulbs that were installed as part of the Nazareth 2000 project to refurbish the Old City for the millennium. In an alleyway once trodden by donkeys, a preserved Ottoman door protects the Fauzi Azar Inn.
A courtyard filled with pigeons leads to the lobby of this three-year-old hostel. Its sky-blue ceiling painted with pictures of cherubs holding bundles of wheat testify to the former glory of this 150-year-old Ottoman-era home. Guests lounge on oriental cushions near a wide window facing the dense shuk. Locals visit the inn just to get a glimpse of how a home in the Old City can be revamped into modern living quarters.
Maoz Inon, who opened the Fauzi Azar Inn, reached an agreement with its owners - the Azar family, whose members now reside in Syria - to renovate the home instead of paying rent, creating the type of hostel he himself, an experienced traveler, would have enjoyed. Thanks in generous part to the inn, the Old City of Nazareth is beginning to flourish.
"Optimism is back in town. We take [some] small credit for it," Inon says, with measured pride.
Inon, 32, looks like actor Woody Harrelson, with bright blue eyes and a happy-go-lucky smile. Exhibiting the same cheerful naïveté Harrelson displayed in White Men Can't Jump, Inon has proved that Jewish men can jump into the Arab capital of Israel, gain acceptance, and transform its cityscape.
"I don't present myself as Jewish," Inon said, "but as Maoz Inon, experienced traveler, entrepreneur and human being."
If he has his way, the Old City of Nazareth will become the most "happening" outdoor shopping center in the Galilee, with the refined charm of Tel Aviv's historic Neveh Zedek neighborhood and the bustle of the Mahaneh Yehuda market in Jerusalem.
A native of Kibbutz Nir Am near the Gaza border, Inon discovered Jesus's hometown when he and his then-girlfriend, now his wife, took a break from their jobs at high-tech companies in Tel Aviv to backpack through the country. Nazareth was a stop on the Israel National Trail, and Inon was smitten.
"It's a city with character and stories to tell, but it's not a postcard for tourists, like Acre or Jaffa," he says. "It's life. It's real - very authentic, very beautiful."
A mixture of idealism and capitalism has inspired him to go against the odds and found the Fauzi Azar Inn. "Tourism is a great tool to bring prosperity to neglected places where it's really needed," he says. "It works in an honorable way."
Walking past the colored walls, he recounts the history of the Old City.
Under the British Mandate, it served as a residential district for merchants, effendis (landowners) and government bureaucrats. After the War of Independence, the city absorbed Arab refugees from neighboring communities, some of whom moved into storage rooms.
Up until the 1990s, the Old City had developed a reputation as a bridal market, attracting shoppers from all over the Galilee. There are some remnants of its glory days as a bazaar. A fluffy, ruffled wedding dress that might have been stylish decades ago is prominently displayed in one window. Other stores show off their wares - jewelry, men's silk button-down shirts, fabrics.
But business in the Old City took a dive with the upsurge of malls and commercial franchises. Some shuk merchants blame the Nazareth 2000 project, which refurbished the sewage system, streetlights and sidewalks at the expense of shoppers' comfort. The city rebuffs that complaint.
"If we hadn't done what we did - that is, the renovation and restoration of the Old City in 2000 - I [believe] most of the buildings wouldn't be here now," Ramiz Jaraisy, Mayor of Nazareth for the past 14 years, told Metro in a phone interview. "The conditions of the buildings were very bad. We prepared modern infrastructure, renovated the roads there. Of course, the intifada had a negative influence on tourism, especially in Nazareth."
But in the past few years, Nazareth at large has been revived as a popular tourist destination. On the southern edge of the Old City, hundreds of pilgrims, nuns and priests flock to the Basilica of the Annunciation on the bustling Paul IV Avenue. Souvenir shops, shwarma joints and bakeries abound. Only tourists rarely veer from the standard site-seeing itinerary to check out the city's adjacent Old City, despite its past prominence.
"It's the heart of the city," Jaraisy says of the shuk, "the most important part of the city for historical sites and roots inside. It's a treasure for human heritage." The Old City serves as the centerpiece of the city's efforts to achieve recognition from UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.
Inon, meanwhile, is leading grassroots efforts to reconceptualize the Old City as the new hot spot for foreign tourists, as well as for Israelis. He commutes to Nazareth from his home in Binyamina, where he lives with his wife and two young children, to greet guests and also encourage locals to develop their own ideas for the shuk.
He stops at an open space featuring a small convenience store and a tailor. "I already envision a piazza," he says.
Touring the area with Inon, it's difficult to walk through the shuk without getting stopped by locals who shake his hand with a hearty "Salaam, Maoz!" With his brand-name Israeli sweater and bouncy step, he stands out.
We pass by Wisam Abu Sarem, a young man who has opened an espresso bar in front of an old-fashioned men's club where middle-aged men are playing backgammon.
We pass by a corner shop, its shelves filled with candy bars, cereals and canned foods. The owners are watching television, hoping one of Inon's guests will stop by for a snack.
"You must open," Inon exhorts Naaman Kawar like a motivational speaker. The Nazareth native is planning to open a pizzeria in an old frame shop. It looks like he still has a lot of work to do. The room is furnished with only a table. The only real investment seems to be a mural of a Nazareth street scene, painted by a friend. Another painting, of Mary, rests on an easel.
"I'm afraid to open," says Kawar, who already looks defeated. "There are no people here."
"It's very scary to open a business," Inon sympathizes. He recalls how it took over half a year to get a steady flow of guests at the inn. He thought of closing down right after the Second Lebanon War, which pounded businesses in northern Israel, but stayed afloat with government compensation. He persisted.
"Everyone is waiting for someone else to take the initiative and do something," Inon says. "From my experience, no one will do anything. I don't want to wait."
His "if you build it, it will come" attitude has worked. This past April was his most successful month yet. Every week, a new study group seems to choose accommodations at the inn, from Christians to Zen Buddhists. He's taken over old shops on the lower floor to add more guest rooms and a communal dining area.
"If we're experiencing a recovery, it's because of Maoz," says Kawar. "Everyone recognizes it. He gave courage to people to envision something."
Kawar is hoping to follow Inon's lead. "I have two huge homes here," he says. "I hope the area will grow so that I can take a loan, renovate them, maybe make a hostel, like Maoz's."
We turn into a busy vegetable market frequented mostly by locals.
Abu Ashraf, 53, greets us with his syrupy homemade katayef desserts, one filled with cheese, the other with walnuts. His restaurant, Diwan Elsaraya, is named after the castle next door that once belonged to Daher el-Omar, the ruler of the Galilee in the mid-18th century. Once a municipal office, it now stands empty.
"If we had 10 more Maozes, it'd be good," Abu Ashraf said after pouring us some Turkish coffee. Inon often directs his guests Ashraf's way. "I just look for the good people. Religion doesn't matter," Ashraf adds.
Inon sees every business in the shuk as a potential partner, but it took some time for the people in the community to warm up to the non-Arab's initiative. "Some people didn't believe this whole story - it's like introducing a foreign object to the body," said Abu Ashraf. "Naturally, when something new comes in, you're suspicious."
Inon didn't know too many people at first, but Abu Ashraf observed Inon's work and gave his "sponsorship," accelerating his acceptance by everyone else. Recently Abu Ashraf invited Maoz to his neighbor's wedding.
"He's smart. He respects people. People respect him. He deserves it. He proved himself."
The Nazareth Cultural and Tourist Association, a publicly-funded association founded in 1999, has duly recognized the potential of the Old City to become a leading center for commerce and entertainment. It is leading efforts, on the logistical end, to absorb new businesses.
"What you need to do is bring a different type of business," said Tareq Shihada, the director of the association, as we wait for lunch at the new Saj restaurant. "Businesses have a successful chance within the circumstances." He envisions galleries, clothing and jewelry boutiques, cafes, skin care shops, pubs, and restaurants. "I use Maoz as an example of someone who dreamed about something."
Saj is an example of the type of business Shihada hopes to attract - the restaurant is geared to both locals and tourists, it stays open late, and it mixes modernity with Arab tradition and hospitality.
A narrow stairway and arched doorway lead to Saj, but its sign colorfully attests to its modern intentions: "Fashion Food." The restaurant was co-founded by Amin Zayyad, a culinary pioneer in Nazareth who introduced gourmet Arab food with his former Zaytuna restaurant.
In building Saj, Zayyad and his partners gutted an old house and turned it into another gourmet restaurant with modern lines and leather chairs. Saj could easily fit into a trendy street in Tel Aviv.
"We looked at four to five places appropriate for a business," said Zayyad, "places where you can develop a center for leisure. We found this strip from Mary's Well to the shuk. We saw it has long-term potential."
If Saj could be judged by its food alone, it has a good chance of succeeding. We enjoyed delicious parsley-salmon salad, eggplant topped with flavored tehina, and chicken in yogurt sauce with fenugreek seeds - all served with classic Arab warmth and charm.
"I tell people here you have one commodity no one can compete with: Arab hospitality," said Shihada. "We don't need to teach people how to welcome people. It's built in."
Zayyad understands, though, how other locals might feel intimidated to venture into the city. "People are afraid to invest in the Old City. It's a big risk. Ambitious young people don't know to whom to turn to develop plans," he said. "It's lacking in Nazareth. With back up, Nazareth could be a very special center for going out."
To help counter such concerns by would-be business owners, the Nazareth Cultural and Tourist Association has partnered with the municipality and local centers for business development (Mati) to create a non-profit wing to assist entrepreneurs. Businesses will be exempt from municipal taxes in their first year of operation, and will be charged in 25 percent increments in subsequent years.
Plans are also underway to open an office in the Old City that will act like a real estate office. Part of the challenge in opening new stores is tracking down the owners of the buildings. Once a database of all available properties is created, a municipal liaison will match entrepreneurs with the properties. New businesses will be required to stay open until 10 p.m. as a means of turning the Old City into center for nightlife and competing with local shopping malls.
But some merchants think the city is taking too long. "The municipality always tells us about a five-year plan, but nothing happens!" cries Suleman Aywani, owner of a vegetable store.
To which Inon replies, "Individuals can make the change!"
Optimism doesn't seem to be carried into a few halls down from the Fauzi Azar Inn, either.
About two months ago, Nazareth resident Raida Saad opened a lingerie boutique. Her shop consists of a room with only a few racks, one for cotton nightgowns, one for silk negligees, and one for undergarments. Her original landscapes decorate the store's back wall.
Saad pulls out a black negligee imported from an undisclosed Arab country. It goes for NIS 380. "I have very special things," she says proudly, but then sulks. "Tourists pass by, they don't come in. Also, Jews who pass by don't come in. I swear, there are hundreds of people who take pictures near my store window. But they don't buy anything."
At Inon's suggestion she attached price labels to the items for foreigners used to fixed retail prices, "but then the Arabs stopped coming."
Opposite her, a jewelry store that's been open for 40 years is empty of customers. The owner glances at the golden hoop earrings, necklaces, and Star of David pendants. "I'd like to get new stuff, but still have trouble selling the old."
She looks out the window, wistfully. It used to be that on Fridays, the shuk was so crowded you couldn't pass through. "Now look, it's empty. But we have a beautiful city," she says.
Outside, retirees are sitting in chairs, not bothering to woo customers. They usually close their shops at 2 p.m. "You see, they're all old. They got used to it."
Inon, she says, has brought some life to the shuk, but a parking deficiency and traffic outside the Old City keep people away. "Tourists come to the church and leave," she says.
In Inon's opinion, these veteran shops can't last much longer without updating their wares to the Old City's newer vision. For them, he doesn't have too many words of inspiration.
"It's part of the circle of life," he says.
Click here for original
It's evening, and the narrow alleyways of the old Nazareth shuk look deserted except for a few children in jeans playing ball, women in headscarves carrying grocery bags, and European-looking backpackers meandering around as if they're lost. Dozens of metallic doors painted bright green line the corridors, shut with padlocks. Stone homes are patched up with cement to keep them insulated, their windows broken or sealed with plastic shutters. The only thing filling the shuk is the prayer call of the nearby White Mosque.
But there are pockets of revived beauty in the dilapidated shuk, also known as the Old City of Nazareth. Flower pots on a few sunny balconies supply spots of fresh color. Clean pavements and stairs are lit by fluorescent bulbs that were installed as part of the Nazareth 2000 project to refurbish the Old City for the millennium. In an alleyway once trodden by donkeys, a preserved Ottoman door protects the Fauzi Azar Inn.
A courtyard filled with pigeons leads to the lobby of this three-year-old hostel. Its sky-blue ceiling painted with pictures of cherubs holding bundles of wheat testify to the former glory of this 150-year-old Ottoman-era home. Guests lounge on oriental cushions near a wide window facing the dense shuk. Locals visit the inn just to get a glimpse of how a home in the Old City can be revamped into modern living quarters.
Maoz Inon, who opened the Fauzi Azar Inn, reached an agreement with its owners - the Azar family, whose members now reside in Syria - to renovate the home instead of paying rent, creating the type of hostel he himself, an experienced traveler, would have enjoyed. Thanks in generous part to the inn, the Old City of Nazareth is beginning to flourish.
"Optimism is back in town. We take [some] small credit for it," Inon says, with measured pride.
Inon, 32, looks like actor Woody Harrelson, with bright blue eyes and a happy-go-lucky smile. Exhibiting the same cheerful naïveté Harrelson displayed in White Men Can't Jump, Inon has proved that Jewish men can jump into the Arab capital of Israel, gain acceptance, and transform its cityscape.
"I don't present myself as Jewish," Inon said, "but as Maoz Inon, experienced traveler, entrepreneur and human being."
If he has his way, the Old City of Nazareth will become the most "happening" outdoor shopping center in the Galilee, with the refined charm of Tel Aviv's historic Neveh Zedek neighborhood and the bustle of the Mahaneh Yehuda market in Jerusalem.
A native of Kibbutz Nir Am near the Gaza border, Inon discovered Jesus's hometown when he and his then-girlfriend, now his wife, took a break from their jobs at high-tech companies in Tel Aviv to backpack through the country. Nazareth was a stop on the Israel National Trail, and Inon was smitten.
"It's a city with character and stories to tell, but it's not a postcard for tourists, like Acre or Jaffa," he says. "It's life. It's real - very authentic, very beautiful."
A mixture of idealism and capitalism has inspired him to go against the odds and found the Fauzi Azar Inn. "Tourism is a great tool to bring prosperity to neglected places where it's really needed," he says. "It works in an honorable way."
Walking past the colored walls, he recounts the history of the Old City.
Under the British Mandate, it served as a residential district for merchants, effendis (landowners) and government bureaucrats. After the War of Independence, the city absorbed Arab refugees from neighboring communities, some of whom moved into storage rooms.
Up until the 1990s, the Old City had developed a reputation as a bridal market, attracting shoppers from all over the Galilee. There are some remnants of its glory days as a bazaar. A fluffy, ruffled wedding dress that might have been stylish decades ago is prominently displayed in one window. Other stores show off their wares - jewelry, men's silk button-down shirts, fabrics.
But business in the Old City took a dive with the upsurge of malls and commercial franchises. Some shuk merchants blame the Nazareth 2000 project, which refurbished the sewage system, streetlights and sidewalks at the expense of shoppers' comfort. The city rebuffs that complaint.
"If we hadn't done what we did - that is, the renovation and restoration of the Old City in 2000 - I [believe] most of the buildings wouldn't be here now," Ramiz Jaraisy, Mayor of Nazareth for the past 14 years, told Metro in a phone interview. "The conditions of the buildings were very bad. We prepared modern infrastructure, renovated the roads there. Of course, the intifada had a negative influence on tourism, especially in Nazareth."
But in the past few years, Nazareth at large has been revived as a popular tourist destination. On the southern edge of the Old City, hundreds of pilgrims, nuns and priests flock to the Basilica of the Annunciation on the bustling Paul IV Avenue. Souvenir shops, shwarma joints and bakeries abound. Only tourists rarely veer from the standard site-seeing itinerary to check out the city's adjacent Old City, despite its past prominence.
"It's the heart of the city," Jaraisy says of the shuk, "the most important part of the city for historical sites and roots inside. It's a treasure for human heritage." The Old City serves as the centerpiece of the city's efforts to achieve recognition from UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.
Inon, meanwhile, is leading grassroots efforts to reconceptualize the Old City as the new hot spot for foreign tourists, as well as for Israelis. He commutes to Nazareth from his home in Binyamina, where he lives with his wife and two young children, to greet guests and also encourage locals to develop their own ideas for the shuk.
He stops at an open space featuring a small convenience store and a tailor. "I already envision a piazza," he says.
Touring the area with Inon, it's difficult to walk through the shuk without getting stopped by locals who shake his hand with a hearty "Salaam, Maoz!" With his brand-name Israeli sweater and bouncy step, he stands out.
We pass by Wisam Abu Sarem, a young man who has opened an espresso bar in front of an old-fashioned men's club where middle-aged men are playing backgammon.
We pass by a corner shop, its shelves filled with candy bars, cereals and canned foods. The owners are watching television, hoping one of Inon's guests will stop by for a snack.
"You must open," Inon exhorts Naaman Kawar like a motivational speaker. The Nazareth native is planning to open a pizzeria in an old frame shop. It looks like he still has a lot of work to do. The room is furnished with only a table. The only real investment seems to be a mural of a Nazareth street scene, painted by a friend. Another painting, of Mary, rests on an easel.
"I'm afraid to open," says Kawar, who already looks defeated. "There are no people here."
"It's very scary to open a business," Inon sympathizes. He recalls how it took over half a year to get a steady flow of guests at the inn. He thought of closing down right after the Second Lebanon War, which pounded businesses in northern Israel, but stayed afloat with government compensation. He persisted.
"Everyone is waiting for someone else to take the initiative and do something," Inon says. "From my experience, no one will do anything. I don't want to wait."
His "if you build it, it will come" attitude has worked. This past April was his most successful month yet. Every week, a new study group seems to choose accommodations at the inn, from Christians to Zen Buddhists. He's taken over old shops on the lower floor to add more guest rooms and a communal dining area.
"If we're experiencing a recovery, it's because of Maoz," says Kawar. "Everyone recognizes it. He gave courage to people to envision something."
Kawar is hoping to follow Inon's lead. "I have two huge homes here," he says. "I hope the area will grow so that I can take a loan, renovate them, maybe make a hostel, like Maoz's."
We turn into a busy vegetable market frequented mostly by locals.
Abu Ashraf, 53, greets us with his syrupy homemade katayef desserts, one filled with cheese, the other with walnuts. His restaurant, Diwan Elsaraya, is named after the castle next door that once belonged to Daher el-Omar, the ruler of the Galilee in the mid-18th century. Once a municipal office, it now stands empty.
"If we had 10 more Maozes, it'd be good," Abu Ashraf said after pouring us some Turkish coffee. Inon often directs his guests Ashraf's way. "I just look for the good people. Religion doesn't matter," Ashraf adds.
Inon sees every business in the shuk as a potential partner, but it took some time for the people in the community to warm up to the non-Arab's initiative. "Some people didn't believe this whole story - it's like introducing a foreign object to the body," said Abu Ashraf. "Naturally, when something new comes in, you're suspicious."
Inon didn't know too many people at first, but Abu Ashraf observed Inon's work and gave his "sponsorship," accelerating his acceptance by everyone else. Recently Abu Ashraf invited Maoz to his neighbor's wedding.
"He's smart. He respects people. People respect him. He deserves it. He proved himself."
The Nazareth Cultural and Tourist Association, a publicly-funded association founded in 1999, has duly recognized the potential of the Old City to become a leading center for commerce and entertainment. It is leading efforts, on the logistical end, to absorb new businesses.
"What you need to do is bring a different type of business," said Tareq Shihada, the director of the association, as we wait for lunch at the new Saj restaurant. "Businesses have a successful chance within the circumstances." He envisions galleries, clothing and jewelry boutiques, cafes, skin care shops, pubs, and restaurants. "I use Maoz as an example of someone who dreamed about something."
Saj is an example of the type of business Shihada hopes to attract - the restaurant is geared to both locals and tourists, it stays open late, and it mixes modernity with Arab tradition and hospitality.
A narrow stairway and arched doorway lead to Saj, but its sign colorfully attests to its modern intentions: "Fashion Food." The restaurant was co-founded by Amin Zayyad, a culinary pioneer in Nazareth who introduced gourmet Arab food with his former Zaytuna restaurant.
In building Saj, Zayyad and his partners gutted an old house and turned it into another gourmet restaurant with modern lines and leather chairs. Saj could easily fit into a trendy street in Tel Aviv.
"We looked at four to five places appropriate for a business," said Zayyad, "places where you can develop a center for leisure. We found this strip from Mary's Well to the shuk. We saw it has long-term potential."
If Saj could be judged by its food alone, it has a good chance of succeeding. We enjoyed delicious parsley-salmon salad, eggplant topped with flavored tehina, and chicken in yogurt sauce with fenugreek seeds - all served with classic Arab warmth and charm.
"I tell people here you have one commodity no one can compete with: Arab hospitality," said Shihada. "We don't need to teach people how to welcome people. It's built in."
Zayyad understands, though, how other locals might feel intimidated to venture into the city. "People are afraid to invest in the Old City. It's a big risk. Ambitious young people don't know to whom to turn to develop plans," he said. "It's lacking in Nazareth. With back up, Nazareth could be a very special center for going out."
To help counter such concerns by would-be business owners, the Nazareth Cultural and Tourist Association has partnered with the municipality and local centers for business development (Mati) to create a non-profit wing to assist entrepreneurs. Businesses will be exempt from municipal taxes in their first year of operation, and will be charged in 25 percent increments in subsequent years.
Plans are also underway to open an office in the Old City that will act like a real estate office. Part of the challenge in opening new stores is tracking down the owners of the buildings. Once a database of all available properties is created, a municipal liaison will match entrepreneurs with the properties. New businesses will be required to stay open until 10 p.m. as a means of turning the Old City into center for nightlife and competing with local shopping malls.
But some merchants think the city is taking too long. "The municipality always tells us about a five-year plan, but nothing happens!" cries Suleman Aywani, owner of a vegetable store.
To which Inon replies, "Individuals can make the change!"
Optimism doesn't seem to be carried into a few halls down from the Fauzi Azar Inn, either.
About two months ago, Nazareth resident Raida Saad opened a lingerie boutique. Her shop consists of a room with only a few racks, one for cotton nightgowns, one for silk negligees, and one for undergarments. Her original landscapes decorate the store's back wall.
Saad pulls out a black negligee imported from an undisclosed Arab country. It goes for NIS 380. "I have very special things," she says proudly, but then sulks. "Tourists pass by, they don't come in. Also, Jews who pass by don't come in. I swear, there are hundreds of people who take pictures near my store window. But they don't buy anything."
At Inon's suggestion she attached price labels to the items for foreigners used to fixed retail prices, "but then the Arabs stopped coming."
Opposite her, a jewelry store that's been open for 40 years is empty of customers. The owner glances at the golden hoop earrings, necklaces, and Star of David pendants. "I'd like to get new stuff, but still have trouble selling the old."
She looks out the window, wistfully. It used to be that on Fridays, the shuk was so crowded you couldn't pass through. "Now look, it's empty. But we have a beautiful city," she says.
Outside, retirees are sitting in chairs, not bothering to woo customers. They usually close their shops at 2 p.m. "You see, they're all old. They got used to it."
Inon, she says, has brought some life to the shuk, but a parking deficiency and traffic outside the Old City keep people away. "Tourists come to the church and leave," she says.
In Inon's opinion, these veteran shops can't last much longer without updating their wares to the Old City's newer vision. For them, he doesn't have too many words of inspiration.
"It's part of the circle of life," he says.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The French connection (hotel review)
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; June 12, 2008
Catherine and Daniel Groner made aliya in March 2007 from the south of France with a dream: to create a mini- French oasis within Israel. They have succeeded with Villa Provence, a six-suite boutique hotel and spa in Moshav Manot, about 16 km. east of Nahariya.
The peach-colored two-story villa stands out in the hilly moshav, home to some 64 families. Dozens of plants and a small fountain fill the entrance corridor. The tabletops in the dining room, which also serves as the hotel's lobby, boast elegant earth-colored tiles. Antique French pantries stand against walls adorned with landscape paintings.
But the most scenic picture is located through the wide patio glass door: a bright blue pool and tanning deck surrounded by a lush garden.
Down the hall are two treatment rooms and a spa with a steam room and sauna. The jacuzzi is located outside.
The Groners' personal story of aliya is impressive. Catherine left her work as a corporate consultant and Daniel as an accountant and judge to realize their Zionist dream. This is his second marriage, her first.
"We opened a new page in Israel," says Daniel.
They scouted different communities in Israel until they came upon Moshav Manot. Most French olim, Daniel said, flock to the big cities, but they were intent on creating a suburban lifestyle similar to one they enjoyed in France. They came upon a home whose second floor once served as a guest house. As soon as they began remodeling, the Second Lebanon War broke out.
"We got our ID cards and war cards together," explained Daniel. "It was hard, but we didn't want to go back; we wanted to live in Israel." While the hotel was in construction, the couple lived in Nahariya while escaping to Tel Aviv when rockets started falling. Finally, the work was done, and in May 2007, Villa Provence opened.
Catherine applied her natural artistic flair to design the interior, with each suite designed in a different color scheme. I stayed in the Narcisse room, styled in white and silver, and felt like a French princess.
Rooms here are equipped with an LCD screen, DVD, stereo, Internet outlet, and mini-fridge. Conveniently placed on a small desk is a book of things to do in Galilee. French L'Occitane soaps, shampoos and moisturizing creams add a European scent to the bathrooms and spa.
Amidst all this luxury and elegance, only one thing was a little tough at Villa Provence: the lack of fuzzy warmth I have enjoyed as a guest at family-run log-cabin style tzimmers.
The Groners' living quarters are located through a glass door near the lobby, understandably off limits to guests.
When Catherine served me breakfast consisting of breads, Roquefort and feta cheese, cucumber and Waldorf salads, and a sunny-side-up egg, I didn't feel comfortable asking her to fetch me more water. When Daniel offered to take my luggage to my car, I declined; a former judge shouldn't be my valet.
I felt like I was interrupting the Groners when I wanted something - whether to inquire about a massage, or to figure out why the hot water in the spa's shower wasn't working.
Daniel explained that when the hotel is at full capacity, they hire outside help. But I am of the opinion that whoever attends such an expensive and well-groomed hotel should be treated like the VIPs the luxurious accommodations make them feel.
B&B with spa included (treatment extra): Weekday: NIS 1,000 per couple per night; Weekend: NIS 2,400 per couple for two nights; www.villaprovence.co.il; (04) 980-6246; (054) 308-1061. Children over the age of 16 are welcome.
Catherine and Daniel Groner made aliya in March 2007 from the south of France with a dream: to create a mini- French oasis within Israel. They have succeeded with Villa Provence, a six-suite boutique hotel and spa in Moshav Manot, about 16 km. east of Nahariya.
The peach-colored two-story villa stands out in the hilly moshav, home to some 64 families. Dozens of plants and a small fountain fill the entrance corridor. The tabletops in the dining room, which also serves as the hotel's lobby, boast elegant earth-colored tiles. Antique French pantries stand against walls adorned with landscape paintings.
But the most scenic picture is located through the wide patio glass door: a bright blue pool and tanning deck surrounded by a lush garden.
Down the hall are two treatment rooms and a spa with a steam room and sauna. The jacuzzi is located outside.
The Groners' personal story of aliya is impressive. Catherine left her work as a corporate consultant and Daniel as an accountant and judge to realize their Zionist dream. This is his second marriage, her first.
"We opened a new page in Israel," says Daniel.
They scouted different communities in Israel until they came upon Moshav Manot. Most French olim, Daniel said, flock to the big cities, but they were intent on creating a suburban lifestyle similar to one they enjoyed in France. They came upon a home whose second floor once served as a guest house. As soon as they began remodeling, the Second Lebanon War broke out.
"We got our ID cards and war cards together," explained Daniel. "It was hard, but we didn't want to go back; we wanted to live in Israel." While the hotel was in construction, the couple lived in Nahariya while escaping to Tel Aviv when rockets started falling. Finally, the work was done, and in May 2007, Villa Provence opened.
Catherine applied her natural artistic flair to design the interior, with each suite designed in a different color scheme. I stayed in the Narcisse room, styled in white and silver, and felt like a French princess.
Rooms here are equipped with an LCD screen, DVD, stereo, Internet outlet, and mini-fridge. Conveniently placed on a small desk is a book of things to do in Galilee. French L'Occitane soaps, shampoos and moisturizing creams add a European scent to the bathrooms and spa.
Amidst all this luxury and elegance, only one thing was a little tough at Villa Provence: the lack of fuzzy warmth I have enjoyed as a guest at family-run log-cabin style tzimmers.
The Groners' living quarters are located through a glass door near the lobby, understandably off limits to guests.
When Catherine served me breakfast consisting of breads, Roquefort and feta cheese, cucumber and Waldorf salads, and a sunny-side-up egg, I didn't feel comfortable asking her to fetch me more water. When Daniel offered to take my luggage to my car, I declined; a former judge shouldn't be my valet.
I felt like I was interrupting the Groners when I wanted something - whether to inquire about a massage, or to figure out why the hot water in the spa's shower wasn't working.
Daniel explained that when the hotel is at full capacity, they hire outside help. But I am of the opinion that whoever attends such an expensive and well-groomed hotel should be treated like the VIPs the luxurious accommodations make them feel.
B&B with spa included (treatment extra): Weekday: NIS 1,000 per couple per night; Weekend: NIS 2,400 per couple for two nights; www.villaprovence.co.il; (04) 980-6246; (054) 308-1061. Children over the age of 16 are welcome.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Sex and the column
The Jewish Journal, June 5, 2008
Click here for original
One of the first things I did when I arrived in my hometown of Los Angeles for the summer was to rush with my friend Lori to see "Sex and the City" on opening night.
We weren't the only ones.
The movie was sold out all over Los Angeles, but as committed fans, we made the trek to Manhattan -- Manhattan Beach, that is -- despite the current gas prices, to see the only 10:30 p.m. Friday showing available within a 30-mile radius.
The line, filled mostly with women, went around the block. I had gotten all dolled up in shiny golden (knock-off?) Kenneth Cole heels, brown leggings and a golden wrap -- just to sit in a movie theater. We stood for a half-hour in the cold beach weather -- me in my heels and Lori wrapped in a blanket she found in her car -- but we didn't mind. The mood was cheerful and expectant. It wasn't the sluggish anticipation we experienced in line for the new "Indiana Jones" movie along with fathers and sons.
We passed the time examining everyone's shoes and chatting with a 50-year-old mother of five kids who'd brought her 18-year-old daughter to see the movie.
Already, during the previews for romantic comedies, we were all cheering and jeering. We weren't strangers -- but sisters -- all connected by our familiarity and sympathy for our mutual best friends: Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha.
But we didn't only come to see fictional characters, but ourselves; the characters are more like Freudian concepts -- there's a bit of each of them in each of us. Sometimes we channel our inner Miranda -- cynical and hard. When we feel sappy and romantic, we channel the prudish Charlotte. And then there's Samantha -- raunchy and horny. And, of course, there's Carrie -- intelligent, open and a bit neurotic.
When I first started writing singles columns, I was living in Tel Aviv, Israel's big city. I titled my column "Sex in Tel Aviv" and described my wish to write about a life as fabulous as that of the show's syndicated columnist, Carrie. With all its hip bars and cafes, Tel Aviv seemed suited to Carrie-esque adventures, only I didn't make as much money or go out as much as she did, and, most of all, I never developed a clique of fabulous girlfriends.
Even in Tel Aviv, generally sheltered from Israel's security issues, I faced predicaments unique to a Jewish American Israeli: surviving a terrorist attack in Sinai, going out on a date with a repressed ultra-Orthodox Jew and encountering a Palestinian at a bar. I was both fortunate and unfortunate to live in a city where struggles reach far beyond simply finding love and a good pair of Manolos.
But no matter the topic, Carrie Bradshaw gave me permission to divulge my romantic life for the entire Jewish world, garnering both fans and foes. Sometimes I wonder: Would I have written half the stuff I did if not for her example? Would I have made the men I dated fodder for my columns without their knowing it? Would I have shared the pain of my first time? I don't know.
My openness has not exactly procured me a "Sex in the City" lifestyle, either. I'm still single, still pretty poor and still don't have a clique of girlfriends. I took on the sexual honesty, but got no fantasy to show for it.
The film is even more fanciful than the TV show. Despite their added years, the women have never looked so posh, perfect -- and plastic. Sure, there are difficult moments of betrayal and break-ups, but how bad can those be when you're wearing Prada and Dolce and Gabbana? Renting apartments in Manhattan on a whim? Jetting to Cancun to ease the pain?
I also faced another challenge in applying "Sex and the City"-style dilemmas to my own life: The community for which I write.
The Jewish world is often covert when it comes to female desire. Jewish women aren't supposed to open up with their rabbis about our pent-up desire for a one-night stand. We can't openly eye another congregant in shul and comment "that guy is hot!" without getting a lecture about middot (good deeds) before looks. I know I speak for some girlfriends when I admit that I have suffered a lot of confusion about the not-so-good deed -- in part because extramarital sex is associated with much taboo in Jewish communities across the board.
And maybe that's why watching "Sex in the City" has always offered such pleasure, and why I have taken Carrie Bradshaw's example of honestly sharing the nitty-gritty, sexually charged challenges of single life with more than just my girlfriends.
So while I may not have enjoyed such a glamorous life of sex in the city, if I have fostered a bit more openness to the needs and challenges of the Jewish woman attracted to secular life, then maybe I have done my share of tikkun olam, even if I won't be wearing Manolos when I get the backlash.
Click here for original
One of the first things I did when I arrived in my hometown of Los Angeles for the summer was to rush with my friend Lori to see "Sex and the City" on opening night.
We weren't the only ones.
The movie was sold out all over Los Angeles, but as committed fans, we made the trek to Manhattan -- Manhattan Beach, that is -- despite the current gas prices, to see the only 10:30 p.m. Friday showing available within a 30-mile radius.
The line, filled mostly with women, went around the block. I had gotten all dolled up in shiny golden (knock-off?) Kenneth Cole heels, brown leggings and a golden wrap -- just to sit in a movie theater. We stood for a half-hour in the cold beach weather -- me in my heels and Lori wrapped in a blanket she found in her car -- but we didn't mind. The mood was cheerful and expectant. It wasn't the sluggish anticipation we experienced in line for the new "Indiana Jones" movie along with fathers and sons.
We passed the time examining everyone's shoes and chatting with a 50-year-old mother of five kids who'd brought her 18-year-old daughter to see the movie.
Already, during the previews for romantic comedies, we were all cheering and jeering. We weren't strangers -- but sisters -- all connected by our familiarity and sympathy for our mutual best friends: Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha.
But we didn't only come to see fictional characters, but ourselves; the characters are more like Freudian concepts -- there's a bit of each of them in each of us. Sometimes we channel our inner Miranda -- cynical and hard. When we feel sappy and romantic, we channel the prudish Charlotte. And then there's Samantha -- raunchy and horny. And, of course, there's Carrie -- intelligent, open and a bit neurotic.
When I first started writing singles columns, I was living in Tel Aviv, Israel's big city. I titled my column "Sex in Tel Aviv" and described my wish to write about a life as fabulous as that of the show's syndicated columnist, Carrie. With all its hip bars and cafes, Tel Aviv seemed suited to Carrie-esque adventures, only I didn't make as much money or go out as much as she did, and, most of all, I never developed a clique of fabulous girlfriends.
Even in Tel Aviv, generally sheltered from Israel's security issues, I faced predicaments unique to a Jewish American Israeli: surviving a terrorist attack in Sinai, going out on a date with a repressed ultra-Orthodox Jew and encountering a Palestinian at a bar. I was both fortunate and unfortunate to live in a city where struggles reach far beyond simply finding love and a good pair of Manolos.
But no matter the topic, Carrie Bradshaw gave me permission to divulge my romantic life for the entire Jewish world, garnering both fans and foes. Sometimes I wonder: Would I have written half the stuff I did if not for her example? Would I have made the men I dated fodder for my columns without their knowing it? Would I have shared the pain of my first time? I don't know.
My openness has not exactly procured me a "Sex in the City" lifestyle, either. I'm still single, still pretty poor and still don't have a clique of girlfriends. I took on the sexual honesty, but got no fantasy to show for it.
The film is even more fanciful than the TV show. Despite their added years, the women have never looked so posh, perfect -- and plastic. Sure, there are difficult moments of betrayal and break-ups, but how bad can those be when you're wearing Prada and Dolce and Gabbana? Renting apartments in Manhattan on a whim? Jetting to Cancun to ease the pain?
I also faced another challenge in applying "Sex and the City"-style dilemmas to my own life: The community for which I write.
The Jewish world is often covert when it comes to female desire. Jewish women aren't supposed to open up with their rabbis about our pent-up desire for a one-night stand. We can't openly eye another congregant in shul and comment "that guy is hot!" without getting a lecture about middot (good deeds) before looks. I know I speak for some girlfriends when I admit that I have suffered a lot of confusion about the not-so-good deed -- in part because extramarital sex is associated with much taboo in Jewish communities across the board.
And maybe that's why watching "Sex in the City" has always offered such pleasure, and why I have taken Carrie Bradshaw's example of honestly sharing the nitty-gritty, sexually charged challenges of single life with more than just my girlfriends.
So while I may not have enjoyed such a glamorous life of sex in the city, if I have fostered a bit more openness to the needs and challenges of the Jewish woman attracted to secular life, then maybe I have done my share of tikkun olam, even if I won't be wearing Manolos when I get the backlash.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Ida's idyll (restaurant review)
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; May 22, 2008
Sleepy Nahariya's slogan promises utopia for fun lovers. While this is surely debatable, the Ida chef's restaurant certainly provides a culinary retreat
The sign greeting visitors at the main entrance of Nahariya humorously reads: "Nahariya-Resort for Fun Lovers." Judging from its Hebrew counterpart below (L'ohavim et ha'chayim), I think they meant: "Naharyia - For People Who Love the Good Life."
Driving further down HaGe'aton Boulevard, it's difficult to understand at first glance how Nahariya earned its poorly translated slogan. The train station on the left consists of drab, gray block buildings; the street is lined with shabby discount clothing stores, banks, and falafel joints.
But as I drove up towards the beach to Ida's Restaurant, the street turned quieter, picturesque, and more appropriate to a resort town. Ida's Restaurant, the only chef restaurant in the city, has definitely helped Nahariya become a place for "fun lovers" of good food.
Ida is situated on pedigree real-estate, the home of the city's first mayor, Gershon Tatz. The owners paid tribute to the Tatz family by naming the restaurant after his wife, Ida, and preserving the structure of the home but renovating it with a modern touch.
Windows with open shutters are draped with sturdy, peach-colored curtains. Chocolate-colored wallpaper with abstracted flowers graces the walls. Chandeliers of ruffled glass are unecessary in daytime - enough air and sun seeps through the windows.
The corridor leading to the original front door (where the original mailbox and doorbell have been preserved) now serves as a pantry.
The restaurant was empty except for four lively English-speaking women who reminded me of The Golden Girls. I nestled near the window in a corner room that used to be the Tatz daughter's bedroom and opened the menu.
Apparently, Nahariya suffers from lack of proof readers. The English menu was titled "manu," and veal brain was spelt "veal brian," etc.. Errors aside, the content of the menu and descriptions of the dishes proved enticing and well thought-out.
Cordon-Bleu trained chef, Shay Shmueli, 33, has blended French and Mediterranean cuisine with exotic touches. For the adventurous, Ida offers samplings of four main courses and nearly all the appetizers for NIS 150 per person (price varies).
Wines are listed not according to region, but by type, and include detailed descriptions of the wine's properties, origins, and uses.
I forgot about all spelling mistakes as soon as I tried the salmon tartar served with herbed lemon cream and tobiko (NIS 35). Generous with parsley and ginger and rich in olive oil, the dish was absolutely delicious. The hinary tofu stuffed with lamb (NIS 35) did not excite me as much as the previous appetizers, but it satisfied. Modeled after the Iraqi kubeh, the chef experimented with an Eastern- inspired tofu crust in lieu of bulgur. The filling of ground lamb and pinenuts made the grade, but the rubbery wrap didn't work for me.
For the main course, the friendly and efficient waitress recommended pan-fried scallops with sweet potato puree and ginger sauce (NIS 110). The dish is a popular alternative to shrimp for the scallops' health value: low in fat and cholesterol free. As a former kosher eater, I usually shy away from the mollusk family, but I gave it a go. Blame it on its healthiness, but the scallop meat was rather tasteless; the creamy puree valorously compensated for its lack of color, flavor, and fat.
Certainly the best dish of the day - and one of my most memorable chicken dishes - was the grilled chicken served with herb casserole (NIS 68). The dish consisted of grilled strips of chicken served on a bed of chickpeas and Persian herbs and rice - a nod to the chef's Persian roots. The generous and aromatic spicing of leek, coriander, dill and Persian lemon was so flavorful that I couldn't stop eating it despite feeling full.
The desserts tasting platter (NIS 65) further attested to the chef's proficiency, although I would recommend going with a single dish of the cheesecake or the Persian rice pudding. The malabi and creme brulee, while good, were not particularly outstanding.
After the meal I took to the beach promenade to walk-off the filling gourmet meal. As I passed by the unpopulated and seemingly unpolluted I felt like I was living the city's slogan.
HaGe'aton Boulevard 48; 04-951-3444; Hours: 12 pm to midnight. Not Kosher.
Sleepy Nahariya's slogan promises utopia for fun lovers. While this is surely debatable, the Ida chef's restaurant certainly provides a culinary retreat
The sign greeting visitors at the main entrance of Nahariya humorously reads: "Nahariya-Resort for Fun Lovers." Judging from its Hebrew counterpart below (L'ohavim et ha'chayim), I think they meant: "Naharyia - For People Who Love the Good Life."
Driving further down HaGe'aton Boulevard, it's difficult to understand at first glance how Nahariya earned its poorly translated slogan. The train station on the left consists of drab, gray block buildings; the street is lined with shabby discount clothing stores, banks, and falafel joints.
But as I drove up towards the beach to Ida's Restaurant, the street turned quieter, picturesque, and more appropriate to a resort town. Ida's Restaurant, the only chef restaurant in the city, has definitely helped Nahariya become a place for "fun lovers" of good food.
Ida is situated on pedigree real-estate, the home of the city's first mayor, Gershon Tatz. The owners paid tribute to the Tatz family by naming the restaurant after his wife, Ida, and preserving the structure of the home but renovating it with a modern touch.
Windows with open shutters are draped with sturdy, peach-colored curtains. Chocolate-colored wallpaper with abstracted flowers graces the walls. Chandeliers of ruffled glass are unecessary in daytime - enough air and sun seeps through the windows.
The corridor leading to the original front door (where the original mailbox and doorbell have been preserved) now serves as a pantry.
The restaurant was empty except for four lively English-speaking women who reminded me of The Golden Girls. I nestled near the window in a corner room that used to be the Tatz daughter's bedroom and opened the menu.
Apparently, Nahariya suffers from lack of proof readers. The English menu was titled "manu," and veal brain was spelt "veal brian," etc.. Errors aside, the content of the menu and descriptions of the dishes proved enticing and well thought-out.
Cordon-Bleu trained chef, Shay Shmueli, 33, has blended French and Mediterranean cuisine with exotic touches. For the adventurous, Ida offers samplings of four main courses and nearly all the appetizers for NIS 150 per person (price varies).
Wines are listed not according to region, but by type, and include detailed descriptions of the wine's properties, origins, and uses.
I forgot about all spelling mistakes as soon as I tried the salmon tartar served with herbed lemon cream and tobiko (NIS 35). Generous with parsley and ginger and rich in olive oil, the dish was absolutely delicious. The hinary tofu stuffed with lamb (NIS 35) did not excite me as much as the previous appetizers, but it satisfied. Modeled after the Iraqi kubeh, the chef experimented with an Eastern- inspired tofu crust in lieu of bulgur. The filling of ground lamb and pinenuts made the grade, but the rubbery wrap didn't work for me.
For the main course, the friendly and efficient waitress recommended pan-fried scallops with sweet potato puree and ginger sauce (NIS 110). The dish is a popular alternative to shrimp for the scallops' health value: low in fat and cholesterol free. As a former kosher eater, I usually shy away from the mollusk family, but I gave it a go. Blame it on its healthiness, but the scallop meat was rather tasteless; the creamy puree valorously compensated for its lack of color, flavor, and fat.
Certainly the best dish of the day - and one of my most memorable chicken dishes - was the grilled chicken served with herb casserole (NIS 68). The dish consisted of grilled strips of chicken served on a bed of chickpeas and Persian herbs and rice - a nod to the chef's Persian roots. The generous and aromatic spicing of leek, coriander, dill and Persian lemon was so flavorful that I couldn't stop eating it despite feeling full.
The desserts tasting platter (NIS 65) further attested to the chef's proficiency, although I would recommend going with a single dish of the cheesecake or the Persian rice pudding. The malabi and creme brulee, while good, were not particularly outstanding.
After the meal I took to the beach promenade to walk-off the filling gourmet meal. As I passed by the unpopulated and seemingly unpolluted I felt like I was living the city's slogan.
HaGe'aton Boulevard 48; 04-951-3444; Hours: 12 pm to midnight. Not Kosher.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Something to hoot about
Jerusalem Post, Metro; May 16, 2008
Click here for original
A franchise of the popular American restaurant chain Hooters is located in Netanya, and the husband-and-wife owners couldn't be more proud of their waitress daughter
For most people, the Hooters restaurant chain immediately conjures up images of all-American blondes with ample cleavage carrying pitchers of beer and chicken wings, or rambunctious men cheering on sports teams. Point in case, the Hooters company Web site characterizes Hooters as "a neighborhood place, not a typical family restaurant," with 68 percent of its clientele male, mostly between age 25 to 54. But it seems that the Israeli franchise owners have re-fashioned the local Hooters as an atypical family restaurant - in more ways than one.
Ofer Ahiraz, a gray-haired 48-year-old, wears a finely-pressed white button-down shirt and flashes a warm, all-around-good-guy smile. He and his wife Ilana live with their three children, ages 17 to 22, in Givatayim. They opened the Hooters franchise last November, putting Israel on the list of over 40 nations that have imported the American icon. Ilana, also 48, is not a waitress, although her admiration for the Hooters girls is clear - especially since the Ahirazes' daughter, Gal, works as head waitress and trainer. Like any good Jewish parents, the Ahirazes sent their eldest daughter to college - at Hooters University in Atlanta, Georgia, where Gal studied for three months to learn the principles behind the Hooters mystique.
Ofer and Ilana Ahiraz first fell in love with the chain on a visit to the United States 13 years ago. The atmosphere, food and beer, they say, brought them back to Hooters on subsequent visits to the US. "Today, from what I see in the US, it caters to families, kids - we have a kids menu," says Ofer. "In the US, they have biker night - that doesn't exist in Israel." Ofer and Ilana both left their careers (he worked as a communications specialist, she was a nurse for 25 years) to bring their Hooters dream to Israel.
While liberal Tel Aviv might seem like a natural home for the busty restaurant concept, the couple took a chance, opening premises in the relatively new Yachin industrial zone in Netanya. The name "Poleg, Netanya" is printed on the waitresses' low-cut Hooters tank tops, right underneath the chain's owl logo. Hooters of America, Inc. acknowledges that many people consider "hooters" slang for "breasts," but its Web site claims that Hooters "uses an owl theme... to allow debate."
The Ahirazes have adapted the chain's food and atmosphere to suit Israeli tastes and mentalities. They replaced Hooters' crab, pork and oyster dishes with more salads and grilled meats, but they still serve up world-famous Hooters chicken wings, along with Philly steak and chicken burgers. Wings are made with the time-tested Hooters buttery-vinaigrette hot sauce and come in five levels of spiciness. A roll of paper towels is wisely placed on each table so diners can wipe the butter off their hands and mouths after gorging on the crispy wings. The decor suits the first part of the restaurant's slogan, "delightfully tacky," although with its clean lines and hi- techy overtones, the Israeli Hooters comes across as pretty refined for a Hooters joint. A bright Hooters sign flashes flamboyantly outside and passers-by can ogle the restaurant owl-eyed through the plate-glass windows.
When Metro visited, the restaurant was about three-quarters full by 11 p.m. with groups of young, spiky-haired men; a few couples; a birthday party of some 30 people; a group of amateur race-car drivers for whom a late dinner at Hooters is a weekly ritual; and a group of rowdy American guys (the kind one would expect to find at a US Hooters) who sat in an orange booth underneath a sign that read "Caution: Blondes Thinking." Some men had their eyes on the Maccabi game, broadcast on monitors positioned throughout the restaurant, while rock music played at a level that couldn't compete with the Americans' "yee-hahs."
Of course, Hooters waitresses strutted back and forth in their trademark sneakers and tight lycra tops and tiny orange shorts over nude tights - outfits that have been bemoaned as objectifying women, but which Ilana Ahiraz shrugs off as "active wear."
"I don't see anything anti-feminist," says the soft-spoken Ilana, with lack of outward enthusiasm that might get a Hooters girl fired on the spot. But her daughter, Gal, offers up a little more bubbly-ness.
"It's not a customer, it's a guest," says the cute, down-to-earth Hooters Gal.
Both she and her mother say the main criteria in waitress recruits are "the smile and good work ethic." Gal warmly remembers her parents bringing back Hooters T-shirts and memorabilia from their trips to the US, and she wholeheartedly approves of their ambition.
Most of the waitresses working boasted an Israeli "girl next door" look - long, dark, hair and brown eyes. Not all of their measurements lived up to those of the picture-perfect Hooters calendar girls. Could hiring waitresses with imperfect waistlines be a purposeful tactic to reduce the guilt women will no doubt feel upon eating the fattening wings?
Waitress Sivan, 20, who was working her first shift, was intrigued by the prospect of becoming a Hooters girl. "I just got out of the army and I decided to go to Hooters," Sivan told Metro, adding that she saw work as a Hooters girl as "something different" from being a waitress.
When a country-tinged rock song came on, the waitresses broke out into a square dance, which was a real hoot. It looked more like the hora, and the Hooters girls giggled self-consciously throughout. But the group of Americans, who got a front-seat view from their booth, clearly enjoyed the performance. "They need to do that more with more women," said Norman, a medical student at Ben-Gurion University's program for overseas students, who was celebrating his birthday. He and his friends had been planning the trip from Beersheba to Hooters for three months.
But looks, said Norman, are not everything. "It's not a strip club. They're attractive, friendly. She cut the wings for me and licked her fingers after - what more do you want?" His wife, by the way, is a Hooters fan, and she approved of the outing.
Netanya resident David Barak, a well-known hip-hop choreographer, sat quietly eating wings and drinking beer. "It'll never be a real guy's place," he commented, adding that the fleshy atmosphere wasn't "pure enough."
Barak declined to comment on the dancing, but said that an American Hooters girl who came to Israel to train the Israeli waitresses had admitted to him that the Israeli branch could never be a "real Hooters."
But how do you know whose Hooters are real and whose aren't? Metro might have to go to Hooters U to find the answer to that one.
Click here for original
A franchise of the popular American restaurant chain Hooters is located in Netanya, and the husband-and-wife owners couldn't be more proud of their waitress daughter
For most people, the Hooters restaurant chain immediately conjures up images of all-American blondes with ample cleavage carrying pitchers of beer and chicken wings, or rambunctious men cheering on sports teams. Point in case, the Hooters company Web site characterizes Hooters as "a neighborhood place, not a typical family restaurant," with 68 percent of its clientele male, mostly between age 25 to 54. But it seems that the Israeli franchise owners have re-fashioned the local Hooters as an atypical family restaurant - in more ways than one.
Ofer Ahiraz, a gray-haired 48-year-old, wears a finely-pressed white button-down shirt and flashes a warm, all-around-good-guy smile. He and his wife Ilana live with their three children, ages 17 to 22, in Givatayim. They opened the Hooters franchise last November, putting Israel on the list of over 40 nations that have imported the American icon. Ilana, also 48, is not a waitress, although her admiration for the Hooters girls is clear - especially since the Ahirazes' daughter, Gal, works as head waitress and trainer. Like any good Jewish parents, the Ahirazes sent their eldest daughter to college - at Hooters University in Atlanta, Georgia, where Gal studied for three months to learn the principles behind the Hooters mystique.
Ofer and Ilana Ahiraz first fell in love with the chain on a visit to the United States 13 years ago. The atmosphere, food and beer, they say, brought them back to Hooters on subsequent visits to the US. "Today, from what I see in the US, it caters to families, kids - we have a kids menu," says Ofer. "In the US, they have biker night - that doesn't exist in Israel." Ofer and Ilana both left their careers (he worked as a communications specialist, she was a nurse for 25 years) to bring their Hooters dream to Israel.
While liberal Tel Aviv might seem like a natural home for the busty restaurant concept, the couple took a chance, opening premises in the relatively new Yachin industrial zone in Netanya. The name "Poleg, Netanya" is printed on the waitresses' low-cut Hooters tank tops, right underneath the chain's owl logo. Hooters of America, Inc. acknowledges that many people consider "hooters" slang for "breasts," but its Web site claims that Hooters "uses an owl theme... to allow debate."
The Ahirazes have adapted the chain's food and atmosphere to suit Israeli tastes and mentalities. They replaced Hooters' crab, pork and oyster dishes with more salads and grilled meats, but they still serve up world-famous Hooters chicken wings, along with Philly steak and chicken burgers. Wings are made with the time-tested Hooters buttery-vinaigrette hot sauce and come in five levels of spiciness. A roll of paper towels is wisely placed on each table so diners can wipe the butter off their hands and mouths after gorging on the crispy wings. The decor suits the first part of the restaurant's slogan, "delightfully tacky," although with its clean lines and hi- techy overtones, the Israeli Hooters comes across as pretty refined for a Hooters joint. A bright Hooters sign flashes flamboyantly outside and passers-by can ogle the restaurant owl-eyed through the plate-glass windows.
When Metro visited, the restaurant was about three-quarters full by 11 p.m. with groups of young, spiky-haired men; a few couples; a birthday party of some 30 people; a group of amateur race-car drivers for whom a late dinner at Hooters is a weekly ritual; and a group of rowdy American guys (the kind one would expect to find at a US Hooters) who sat in an orange booth underneath a sign that read "Caution: Blondes Thinking." Some men had their eyes on the Maccabi game, broadcast on monitors positioned throughout the restaurant, while rock music played at a level that couldn't compete with the Americans' "yee-hahs."
Of course, Hooters waitresses strutted back and forth in their trademark sneakers and tight lycra tops and tiny orange shorts over nude tights - outfits that have been bemoaned as objectifying women, but which Ilana Ahiraz shrugs off as "active wear."
"I don't see anything anti-feminist," says the soft-spoken Ilana, with lack of outward enthusiasm that might get a Hooters girl fired on the spot. But her daughter, Gal, offers up a little more bubbly-ness.
"It's not a customer, it's a guest," says the cute, down-to-earth Hooters Gal.
Both she and her mother say the main criteria in waitress recruits are "the smile and good work ethic." Gal warmly remembers her parents bringing back Hooters T-shirts and memorabilia from their trips to the US, and she wholeheartedly approves of their ambition.
Most of the waitresses working boasted an Israeli "girl next door" look - long, dark, hair and brown eyes. Not all of their measurements lived up to those of the picture-perfect Hooters calendar girls. Could hiring waitresses with imperfect waistlines be a purposeful tactic to reduce the guilt women will no doubt feel upon eating the fattening wings?
Waitress Sivan, 20, who was working her first shift, was intrigued by the prospect of becoming a Hooters girl. "I just got out of the army and I decided to go to Hooters," Sivan told Metro, adding that she saw work as a Hooters girl as "something different" from being a waitress.
When a country-tinged rock song came on, the waitresses broke out into a square dance, which was a real hoot. It looked more like the hora, and the Hooters girls giggled self-consciously throughout. But the group of Americans, who got a front-seat view from their booth, clearly enjoyed the performance. "They need to do that more with more women," said Norman, a medical student at Ben-Gurion University's program for overseas students, who was celebrating his birthday. He and his friends had been planning the trip from Beersheba to Hooters for three months.
But looks, said Norman, are not everything. "It's not a strip club. They're attractive, friendly. She cut the wings for me and licked her fingers after - what more do you want?" His wife, by the way, is a Hooters fan, and she approved of the outing.
Netanya resident David Barak, a well-known hip-hop choreographer, sat quietly eating wings and drinking beer. "It'll never be a real guy's place," he commented, adding that the fleshy atmosphere wasn't "pure enough."
Barak declined to comment on the dancing, but said that an American Hooters girl who came to Israel to train the Israeli waitresses had admitted to him that the Israeli branch could never be a "real Hooters."
But how do you know whose Hooters are real and whose aren't? Metro might have to go to Hooters U to find the answer to that one.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
‘The Comfort Girls’ satisfy in three part harmony
Jewish Journal, May 8, 2008
Click here for original
The desert air was balmy and hot. The almost-full moon hung over palm trees and the fireflies glittered amid a spotlight's beam. More than 1,000 people sat on the blanketed stone bleachers of the outdoor amphitheater at Mineral Beach for the Passover Dead Sea Music Festival, waiting patiently for the Israeli trio, HaBanot Nechama (translated as "Comfort Girls"), to hit the stage.
The crowd occupied themselves with kosher-for-Passover pizza and crepes but got grumpy when the trio delayed for more than a half-hour. Finally, the three "girls" walked onto the stage, two barefoot, one in sandals: Yael Deckelbaum, with her dirty-blonde hair and green eyes; Karolina, (who goes by one name only), with her unmistakable afro; and Dana Adini, with long brown waves that look like dreads-in-formation.
As soon as their angelic harmonies opened the show with the lyrics: "Lovers/ Don't be afraid/ I have come to save you from the pain," the crowd was soothed. The sound matched the surroundings -- natural, organic, earthy, relaxing and glam-free.
On May 10, HaBanot Nechama will perform at their most glamorous venue yet -- the Kodak Theatre -- in the gala finale of the "Let My People Sing" music festival celebrating Israel's 60th anniversary. These Israeli natives are sure to bring raw soulful simplicity and natural girl power to a stage known for hosting Hollywood's most primped affairs. They've been likened to the Indigo Girls, Crosby Stills and Nash, and even the Dixie Chicks.
Embarking on their first North American tour, with stops at Radio City Music Hall and the Highline Ballroom in New York and at the Venetian Resort Hotel Casino in Las Vegas, HaBanot Nechama has come a long way from that day in 2004 when, at a Tel Aviv clothing boutique, the then-struggling artists had one of the most important girl-talks of their careers.
"I came to Dana very desperate," related singer-songwriter Yael Deckelbaum during her first interview with a non-Israeli publication. "Karolina came desperate. About our lives, not making it, frustrations at being poor musicians, not being acknowledged, not having money. In that moment was a spark. The first spark."
Curled up in a chair in her bohemian-style apartment in Jaffa, wearing Capri pants and a cotton tank and sans make-up, Deckelbaum spoke about the making-of-the-band on behalf of the trio in her fluent, tad-rusty English. She inherited the language and love for music from her father, a Canadian-Israeli who led a country-folk band, The Taverners, in her hometown of Jerusalem.
It's difficult these days to interview the girls together. In addition to preparing for the tour, they're busy developing their now-successful solo careers. Deckelbaum is finishing her first solo album, Karolina is working on her second and Adini's acting career is soaring, with a starring role as an injured ballet dancer in a new Israeli prime-time television show, "Al Ktzot Ha'etzbaot" (On the Tip of the Fingers).
They owe much of their current success to those inchoate nights in one another's living rooms, when, unbeknownst to them, they were forming a new band by spontaneously, intuitively pitching harmonies for the others' songs.
"We were nourishing each other with each other," Deckelbaum said. "I got a lot of inspiration, so I started writing songs that grew out of this inspiration -- and we started writing some stuff together and jamming a lot. Our meetings didn't feel like work. It felt like a support group."
The name of the band does not necessarily apply to their effect on audiences, but on themselves.
"Karolina brought up the name when we were sitting in the room," Deckelbaum said. "She said, 'I'm feeling such a big comfort. Maybe we should call ourselves Nechama [Comfort].' A bell went off, and that's what it is."
Karolina, born Keren Karolina Avratz in Eilat, contributed her version of the story over the phone from her Tel Aviv apartment.
"The fourth girl is named Nechama," she said. "She's the influence. Sometimes I feel it's another lady -- that there is another woman coming out because our voices come so together, like glue."
The girls debuted on stage as a trio about four and a half years ago with three songs at an acoustic night the Jah-Pan club in the artsy Florentine neighborhood in south Tel Aviv.
"It was very clean, no ego, very special and powerful and full of love," Deckelbaum said. "The crowd went mad. We were each very good on our own -- the crowd enjoyed us very much -- so when the three of us got together, it was three times stronger."
HaBanot Nechama continued to perform regularly, and without formal musical training, the naturally talented singers relied much on intuition, trial and error, and audience call/response to perfect the act. By the time they went into the studio to record an album independently they had already built up a loyal following.
Toward the end of the recording process, they caught the attention of veteran Israeli manager Asher Bitansky, who signed them on his Labeleh record label.
"They are three individual creative talents that managed to collaborate in such a wonderful way and create a tone of music, folk appearance that is rare not only in Israel but around the world," said Bitansky, who is responsible for booking their shows in the United States. "I didn't have to knock on too many doors to make it happen. All I had to do was introduce them, and the rest was done by the music."
The eponymous album went platinum in Israel only weeks after its release in August 2007.
Its third song, "So Far," dominated the Israeli charts, much to Karolina's surprise. "I remember how insecure she was about it," Deckelbaum said, "and how Dana and I thought: 'Wow-this is amazing.' Then we sat there and tried to harmonize it."
In writing the song, Karolina "had a conversation between my heart and God, and I explained the spirit of what I'm feeling. Whatever I did, I didn't feel good. What's going on? Even when life is amazing I feel bad. People smile at me, I don't smile back.... Sometimes you don't know anything about life and yourself, and that's OK."
At the time, Karolina had good reason to smile. Her own band, Funset, was taking off with a sound she likes to call "ragga pumpkin" for its groovy eclecticism.
The album "HaBanot Nechama" reflects the ups-and-downs of art-in-process, the tension between mundane struggles and lofty ambition. In "Ever," Karolina sings of waking up in the morning wondering why "the sun is rising and my soul so far behind." In "Lies," Adini prays for "days like this when I'm not scared to be who I am true." The girls elevate each other's lyrics with funky rhythms, acoustic melodies, musical rounds and catchy harmonies.
Today, the girls don't need comfort for lack of success, but for the pressures that accompany success -- managing their schedule and contracts and balancing their separate careers with the needs of the group. They are discussing a second album, and it remains to be heard how the shift in their careers will affect their synergy.
"Success is not what gets you out of desperation," Deckelbaum said. "It's like falling in love, and now we are at the point in which we have to work harder to keep things on the right track."
Deckelbaum and Karolina are in tune about their future as a band.
"I can say, when you have success it can bring shaky moods to the band," Karolina said. "I see it in other bands, too. But I think the girls and I know why we are together, so I'm not worried. I feel like we can do it again and feel the comfort."
Click here for original
The desert air was balmy and hot. The almost-full moon hung over palm trees and the fireflies glittered amid a spotlight's beam. More than 1,000 people sat on the blanketed stone bleachers of the outdoor amphitheater at Mineral Beach for the Passover Dead Sea Music Festival, waiting patiently for the Israeli trio, HaBanot Nechama (translated as "Comfort Girls"), to hit the stage.
The crowd occupied themselves with kosher-for-Passover pizza and crepes but got grumpy when the trio delayed for more than a half-hour. Finally, the three "girls" walked onto the stage, two barefoot, one in sandals: Yael Deckelbaum, with her dirty-blonde hair and green eyes; Karolina, (who goes by one name only), with her unmistakable afro; and Dana Adini, with long brown waves that look like dreads-in-formation.
As soon as their angelic harmonies opened the show with the lyrics: "Lovers/ Don't be afraid/ I have come to save you from the pain," the crowd was soothed. The sound matched the surroundings -- natural, organic, earthy, relaxing and glam-free.
On May 10, HaBanot Nechama will perform at their most glamorous venue yet -- the Kodak Theatre -- in the gala finale of the "Let My People Sing" music festival celebrating Israel's 60th anniversary. These Israeli natives are sure to bring raw soulful simplicity and natural girl power to a stage known for hosting Hollywood's most primped affairs. They've been likened to the Indigo Girls, Crosby Stills and Nash, and even the Dixie Chicks.
Embarking on their first North American tour, with stops at Radio City Music Hall and the Highline Ballroom in New York and at the Venetian Resort Hotel Casino in Las Vegas, HaBanot Nechama has come a long way from that day in 2004 when, at a Tel Aviv clothing boutique, the then-struggling artists had one of the most important girl-talks of their careers.
"I came to Dana very desperate," related singer-songwriter Yael Deckelbaum during her first interview with a non-Israeli publication. "Karolina came desperate. About our lives, not making it, frustrations at being poor musicians, not being acknowledged, not having money. In that moment was a spark. The first spark."
Curled up in a chair in her bohemian-style apartment in Jaffa, wearing Capri pants and a cotton tank and sans make-up, Deckelbaum spoke about the making-of-the-band on behalf of the trio in her fluent, tad-rusty English. She inherited the language and love for music from her father, a Canadian-Israeli who led a country-folk band, The Taverners, in her hometown of Jerusalem.
It's difficult these days to interview the girls together. In addition to preparing for the tour, they're busy developing their now-successful solo careers. Deckelbaum is finishing her first solo album, Karolina is working on her second and Adini's acting career is soaring, with a starring role as an injured ballet dancer in a new Israeli prime-time television show, "Al Ktzot Ha'etzbaot" (On the Tip of the Fingers).
They owe much of their current success to those inchoate nights in one another's living rooms, when, unbeknownst to them, they were forming a new band by spontaneously, intuitively pitching harmonies for the others' songs.
"We were nourishing each other with each other," Deckelbaum said. "I got a lot of inspiration, so I started writing songs that grew out of this inspiration -- and we started writing some stuff together and jamming a lot. Our meetings didn't feel like work. It felt like a support group."
The name of the band does not necessarily apply to their effect on audiences, but on themselves.
"Karolina brought up the name when we were sitting in the room," Deckelbaum said. "She said, 'I'm feeling such a big comfort. Maybe we should call ourselves Nechama [Comfort].' A bell went off, and that's what it is."
Karolina, born Keren Karolina Avratz in Eilat, contributed her version of the story over the phone from her Tel Aviv apartment.
"The fourth girl is named Nechama," she said. "She's the influence. Sometimes I feel it's another lady -- that there is another woman coming out because our voices come so together, like glue."
The girls debuted on stage as a trio about four and a half years ago with three songs at an acoustic night the Jah-Pan club in the artsy Florentine neighborhood in south Tel Aviv.
"It was very clean, no ego, very special and powerful and full of love," Deckelbaum said. "The crowd went mad. We were each very good on our own -- the crowd enjoyed us very much -- so when the three of us got together, it was three times stronger."
HaBanot Nechama continued to perform regularly, and without formal musical training, the naturally talented singers relied much on intuition, trial and error, and audience call/response to perfect the act. By the time they went into the studio to record an album independently they had already built up a loyal following.
Toward the end of the recording process, they caught the attention of veteran Israeli manager Asher Bitansky, who signed them on his Labeleh record label.
"They are three individual creative talents that managed to collaborate in such a wonderful way and create a tone of music, folk appearance that is rare not only in Israel but around the world," said Bitansky, who is responsible for booking their shows in the United States. "I didn't have to knock on too many doors to make it happen. All I had to do was introduce them, and the rest was done by the music."
The eponymous album went platinum in Israel only weeks after its release in August 2007.
Its third song, "So Far," dominated the Israeli charts, much to Karolina's surprise. "I remember how insecure she was about it," Deckelbaum said, "and how Dana and I thought: 'Wow-this is amazing.' Then we sat there and tried to harmonize it."
In writing the song, Karolina "had a conversation between my heart and God, and I explained the spirit of what I'm feeling. Whatever I did, I didn't feel good. What's going on? Even when life is amazing I feel bad. People smile at me, I don't smile back.... Sometimes you don't know anything about life and yourself, and that's OK."
At the time, Karolina had good reason to smile. Her own band, Funset, was taking off with a sound she likes to call "ragga pumpkin" for its groovy eclecticism.
The album "HaBanot Nechama" reflects the ups-and-downs of art-in-process, the tension between mundane struggles and lofty ambition. In "Ever," Karolina sings of waking up in the morning wondering why "the sun is rising and my soul so far behind." In "Lies," Adini prays for "days like this when I'm not scared to be who I am true." The girls elevate each other's lyrics with funky rhythms, acoustic melodies, musical rounds and catchy harmonies.
Today, the girls don't need comfort for lack of success, but for the pressures that accompany success -- managing their schedule and contracts and balancing their separate careers with the needs of the group. They are discussing a second album, and it remains to be heard how the shift in their careers will affect their synergy.
"Success is not what gets you out of desperation," Deckelbaum said. "It's like falling in love, and now we are at the point in which we have to work harder to keep things on the right track."
Deckelbaum and Karolina are in tune about their future as a band.
"I can say, when you have success it can bring shaky moods to the band," Karolina said. "I see it in other bands, too. But I think the girls and I know why we are together, so I'm not worried. I feel like we can do it again and feel the comfort."
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Molten mozzarella (restaurant review)
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; May 1, 2008
Iceberg Vulcano, located in Tel Aviv's new port, offers boutique pizza at high-street prices
The Iceberg ice cream parlor has established itself as a street-side, summer attraction in Tel Aviv. Its creative, unusual flavors and home-made preparation often draw lines that spill out onto Rehov Ben-Yehuda. Part of the credit goes to Doron Laurent, Iceberg's former chef.
Laurent's training, however, isn't in ice cream. From his French father's side, Laurent comes from a long line of restaurateurs and chefs in the city of Arles in southern France.
He has worked as a pastry chef under Alain Passard at the prestigious Arbege in France. He admits to being overqualified for ice cream, but he took Iceberg's offer because it served as a nurturing home.
He has gone back to his roots in flour - if not to his French roots - by turning up the heat with Iceberg's new Italian restaurant and pizzeria, Vulcano. Vulcano opened last September in the Tel Aviv port with an Iceberg parlor on the premises, and it serves as Iceberg's perfect "hot" counterpart.
Iceberg Vulcano clearly comes across as a family pizzeria - easygoing, child-friendly and a tad boisterous. Children were getting their faces messy licking ice cream cones at the table. Teenagers were munching on pizza alone. Adults streamed in every so often to pick up cartons of ice cream. But the casual family feel does not translate into a small or simplistic menu. Devised by Laurent, it offers options for all age groups. For example, kids can order milk shakes while adults can order the warm, almond-tinged sangria, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
Children might appreciate the Spanish pinchos starters (NIS 30) for their colors, but the flavors appeal to more adult sophistication. Pinchos are like a mix of brochettes and tapas, with toppings that alternate nightly. Ours came with sardines and pickled lemons; mozzarella and dried tomatoes; pear, walnut and gorgonzola; mushrooms and bacon; lox and cream cheese. Each was characterized by fine raw materials and preparation, doing justice to the restaurant's culinary slogan "100% low-tech" which translates into natural and balanced food.
The onion soup (NIS 28), warmly recommended by the waitress, came with long, thin French baguettes perfectly glazed with butter and garlic. The soup is made according to Laurent's grandmother's recipe, and while overall satisfying, it was not as great as the waitress suggested. I couldn't help but wish it came in a bread bowl of Laurent's design. The bacon bits (a prominent feature on the menu) gave the rather mild soup a smoky twist.
The pizzas are baked the Italian way with a thin, crisp crust sturdy enough to hold the cheese without getting soggy. It may be hard to revert back to the major commercial chains after trying Laurent's pies. Each is made with smoked mozzarella imported from Italy to add a little punch to the locally bought soft mozzarella. Laurent's love affair with cheese became clear when he went back to the kitchen to show off a block of the smoked cheese, pointing to its charred edges. "It's incredible," he states.
The flour is also imported from Italy. "Italian flour is much richer in protein and gluten," explains Laurent. "It creates more elastic dough and it has much more power. It won't tear."
I tried the delicious bacon/sweet potato pizza (NIS 45) both with and without the bacon (the servers seek to accommodate customers' requests to add or subtract ingredients). The sweet potato sauce created a delectable creaminess countered by the crunchy sweet potato chip topping. I found the "three and one third" cheese pizza (mozzarella, gorgonzola, Parmesan and a third St. Mor), a little too cheesy (NIS 45). The arugula topping contributed some healthy leafiness, but did not add any more flavor. I regretted not trying another pizza concoction. Overall the toppings available cover vegetables, meat, and seafood.
The pineapple tart for dessert was a bit disappointing given Laurent's background. It looked beautiful with tiny pineapple pearls, but it came off as a little too pretentious; the flavor too sweet and fruity. I should have gone for something in the chocolate category, or maybe just some old-fashioned ice cream.
BOTTOM LINE:
Iceberg Vulcano is a great place for parents to take their children for a family outing or for a birthday celebration, or, for that matter, anyone who wants to enjoy quality pizza. As the weather gets warmer and foot traffic in the port increases, I imagine people will wait in line for pizza just like they do at the Iceberg ice cream parlors.
Tel Aviv Port, Hanger 11, (03) 602-6000.
Iceberg Vulcano, located in Tel Aviv's new port, offers boutique pizza at high-street prices
The Iceberg ice cream parlor has established itself as a street-side, summer attraction in Tel Aviv. Its creative, unusual flavors and home-made preparation often draw lines that spill out onto Rehov Ben-Yehuda. Part of the credit goes to Doron Laurent, Iceberg's former chef.
Laurent's training, however, isn't in ice cream. From his French father's side, Laurent comes from a long line of restaurateurs and chefs in the city of Arles in southern France.
He has worked as a pastry chef under Alain Passard at the prestigious Arbege in France. He admits to being overqualified for ice cream, but he took Iceberg's offer because it served as a nurturing home.
He has gone back to his roots in flour - if not to his French roots - by turning up the heat with Iceberg's new Italian restaurant and pizzeria, Vulcano. Vulcano opened last September in the Tel Aviv port with an Iceberg parlor on the premises, and it serves as Iceberg's perfect "hot" counterpart.
Iceberg Vulcano clearly comes across as a family pizzeria - easygoing, child-friendly and a tad boisterous. Children were getting their faces messy licking ice cream cones at the table. Teenagers were munching on pizza alone. Adults streamed in every so often to pick up cartons of ice cream. But the casual family feel does not translate into a small or simplistic menu. Devised by Laurent, it offers options for all age groups. For example, kids can order milk shakes while adults can order the warm, almond-tinged sangria, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
Children might appreciate the Spanish pinchos starters (NIS 30) for their colors, but the flavors appeal to more adult sophistication. Pinchos are like a mix of brochettes and tapas, with toppings that alternate nightly. Ours came with sardines and pickled lemons; mozzarella and dried tomatoes; pear, walnut and gorgonzola; mushrooms and bacon; lox and cream cheese. Each was characterized by fine raw materials and preparation, doing justice to the restaurant's culinary slogan "100% low-tech" which translates into natural and balanced food.
The onion soup (NIS 28), warmly recommended by the waitress, came with long, thin French baguettes perfectly glazed with butter and garlic. The soup is made according to Laurent's grandmother's recipe, and while overall satisfying, it was not as great as the waitress suggested. I couldn't help but wish it came in a bread bowl of Laurent's design. The bacon bits (a prominent feature on the menu) gave the rather mild soup a smoky twist.
The pizzas are baked the Italian way with a thin, crisp crust sturdy enough to hold the cheese without getting soggy. It may be hard to revert back to the major commercial chains after trying Laurent's pies. Each is made with smoked mozzarella imported from Italy to add a little punch to the locally bought soft mozzarella. Laurent's love affair with cheese became clear when he went back to the kitchen to show off a block of the smoked cheese, pointing to its charred edges. "It's incredible," he states.
The flour is also imported from Italy. "Italian flour is much richer in protein and gluten," explains Laurent. "It creates more elastic dough and it has much more power. It won't tear."
I tried the delicious bacon/sweet potato pizza (NIS 45) both with and without the bacon (the servers seek to accommodate customers' requests to add or subtract ingredients). The sweet potato sauce created a delectable creaminess countered by the crunchy sweet potato chip topping. I found the "three and one third" cheese pizza (mozzarella, gorgonzola, Parmesan and a third St. Mor), a little too cheesy (NIS 45). The arugula topping contributed some healthy leafiness, but did not add any more flavor. I regretted not trying another pizza concoction. Overall the toppings available cover vegetables, meat, and seafood.
The pineapple tart for dessert was a bit disappointing given Laurent's background. It looked beautiful with tiny pineapple pearls, but it came off as a little too pretentious; the flavor too sweet and fruity. I should have gone for something in the chocolate category, or maybe just some old-fashioned ice cream.
BOTTOM LINE:
Iceberg Vulcano is a great place for parents to take their children for a family outing or for a birthday celebration, or, for that matter, anyone who wants to enjoy quality pizza. As the weather gets warmer and foot traffic in the port increases, I imagine people will wait in line for pizza just like they do at the Iceberg ice cream parlors.
Tel Aviv Port, Hanger 11, (03) 602-6000.
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