Excursions with Edna, Part I: Inside Tel Aviv

Photos
Top row: waiting in line on Gilboa St.; tour of apartment, Edna's mom to the left, view of crowd through window;
Second group: Puppet in artists' studio; Edna, Shaula, Hedva walking in Salame neighborhood; children touring rooftop daycare
Third group: Hedva, Edna and Shaula on tour: entrance to main building of Inbal's school; courtyard, Inbal's school; Inbal studying


For the second year in a row, the city of Tel Aviv organized a two-day citywide open house of over 100 venues ranging from renovated apartments, to historical homes/buildings, artists’ and designers’ studios, the central bus station, neighborhood synagogues, gardens, high rises, and scores of interesting sites all over Tel Aviv and Jafo. Although some of the guided tours placed a limit on the number of participants and required pre-registration, there were many other opportunities that simply required showing up and standing in line. My friend Edna generously offered to include me in her entourage for an excursion to check out a few of these.

On Saturday morning I crossed the street and piled into Edna’s car along with her mother, Hedva, who lives in Jerusalem, and her older sister, Shaula, a computer expert who lives in a Tel Aviv suburb. Both of these family members were missing from the seder we celebrated at Pesach with Edna’s other family members: her mother had stayed in Jerusalem and her sister was visiting her son and his family in Boston (and traveling with them to Costa Rica). Edna circled some choices and we optimistically set out for our first stop, an apartment on Gilboa, a beautiful street just behind Rothschild where we had walked on our Bauhaus tour. Along the way Hedva, an energetic and trim 87 year old woman who still swims every day, regaled me with stories of her girlhood in Tel Aviv. Although she has lived in Jerusalem for a good part of her adult life when she was not serving with her diplomat husband in posts around the world, she still prefers Tel Aviv (we are kindred spirits in this regard). She came here from Europe with her parents in 1929 when a good part of the city lacked sidewalks and the streets were still surrounded by sand. As we turned from Rothschild to reach Gilboa St., she pointed to the building on the corner and indicated the second floor apartment where she had once lived.

Edna dropped us off while she and Shaula searched for a parking space. When they rejoined us several minutes later, we hadn’t progressed very far in the long line snaking towards the entry. They were letting about 10-15 people at a time into the small apartment for about 5 minutes so the going was slow. There was some discussion about whether we should stay, but in the end we waited patiently for our turn. As we edged closer, Shaula explained this was not the typical Israeli response to waiting in line. “Do you know the word “frier?”, she asked. “No Israel wants to be taken for a frier (pushover). They always think, is the wait worth it? Will I be taken advantage of? If they encounter a long line for the restroom, as you do in the States, they would use the men’s room or the handicap stall or find a nearby restaurant or other place.” However, in this instance the crowd was surprisingly mellow and docile. After we spent our allotted five minutes viewing the attractively renovated apartment, the home of a young couple and their baby, we exited and were handed gift boxes of Nestle “Fitness” cereal (Nestle coffee also offered at a stand in the backyard) and a plug in air freshener. Then it was back to the car to drive down to an industrial area in the southern part of the city that hasn’t yet been gentrified but is home to a number of art and design studios. We visited an unusual rooftop space that serves as a day care for children of immigrant workers on top of a building filled with artists’ and designers’ workshops. As we wound our way down through the studios, I couldn’t help myself and, with Edna’s encouragement, bought a gorgeous handcrafted bag in soft red leather (an early birthday present from someone?).

At this point we met up with Orna (Edna’s other sister) and traded passengers—Shaula continued touring with Orna and we brought Hedva back to Edna’s apartment where Lew and I enjoyed a lively Shabbat lunch with the family. Among the topics of conversation: is the Israeli scout movement an elitist organization that discourages pluralism and reinforces uncritical Zionist and military values? Do they have too much influence in the schools? Edna thinks yes but Lee feels she may be overstating the case. Eli didn’t like the scouts and Inbal chimed in that the local girls were “white trash.” We weren’t sure this term translated well from its use in the States and we tried to come up with something that captured her depiction of them. Basically we understood from her that they are only interested in superficial things like clothes and status (Far from shallow herself, Inbal is a talented artist who is fascinated by philosophy). Apparently our neighborhood has a mix of wealthy residents and well-known celebrities as well as families who aspire to higher status. Mainly what we notice are scores of young families with small children who pass by our windows on their way to and from the community day care center or congregate in the park where the ice cream truck appears daily. At lunch we also learned that there are few organized sports teams or music programs in the schools and that these are mostly extra-curricular activities arranged by the parents. Eli, for example, plays on a baseball team that is not connected to a school or city recreational program. An impressive exception to the norm is the extensive music education program in Kfar Saba schools created by a non-profit music foundation established by a local pediatrician in cooperation with the city and the school system.

There is ongoing debate here about the declining quality of public education. As I mentioned in another post, Edna and Lee have chosen “alternative” schools for their kids. Last week I had an opportunity to visit the campus of the arts and music magnet high school that sixteen-year old Inbal attends, as did older brother Udi. The campus in a quiet residential neighborhood in Givatayim is open and inviting. I wandered through the main buildings and outlying bungalows viewing the very creative multi-medium artwork of the graduating seniors that was on display. Inbal, seated on a bench in the courtyard studying for exams, directed me where to go and thanked me for coming. Universally, teenagers can be so charming when someone is not their parent; earlier Edna had stopped by the school to see the exhibits and missed half of them because she did not want to risk Inbal’s ire by approaching her. And of course, Inbal was mad that she missed some of the art!