Who knew that when I painted my living room and dining room walls red over ten years ago I was following in the footsteps of Israel’s national poet, Chaim Nachman Bialik. On a recent visit to his home, built in the 1920’s, I was surprised to see the walls painted in rich hues of red, blue, and green downstairs, with more subtle hues (light blue, gold, lavender) upstairs. Fabulous tiled columns and floors and delicately stenciled friezes add to the gracious ambience. With its open layout, high ceilings, large windows, spacious verandahs and library lined with built-in wood bookcases, this impressive house, carefully restored to its original state, embodies a unique blend of European and Arab architectural and decorative styles. I can easily imagine the poets and thinkers of Bialik’s day gathering to discuss big ideas and the latest developments in the long journey to Israeli statehood. If the city hadn't turned it into a museum, I would have been tempted to move in and live with their ghosts for a while.
The house is one of several large, beautiful homes, anchored around a stately municipal building (also undergoing restoration) that encircle Kikar Bialik, an open plaza with a lily pond at its center. As I mentioned in an earlier post, the artist Reuven Rubin also had a home (now a museum) on this street, as did Felicia Blumenthal, a prominent piano virtuoso whose home now houses an intimate concert venue and music library. Kikar Bialik (Bialik Square) is at the center of Little Tel Aviv, an old neighborhood of narrow streets at the heart of the city spreading out from the apex of Allenby and King George Streets (major shopping arteries) that join four other streets to form Kikar Magen David. Shuk haCarmel (market), Gan haIr (city garden), historic Trumpledor cemetary, and stylish Dizengoff Street are all within walking distance. This neighborhood was a vital center of Tel Aviv (and Israeli) literary and artistic culture in the early to middle decades of the twentieth century. Although many of the buildings have deteriorated over time, or been replaced by newer apartments, recently efforts have been made to restore and preserve the area’s character and charm.
Kikar Bialik turned out to be a perfect place to experience Lilah Lavan (White Night), Tel Aviv’s all night extravaganza of music, street entertainment and general hoopla that takes place throughout the city-- on the pedestrian mall of stately Rothschild Street, in concert halls, museums, libraries and synagogues, in parks and neighborhood squares, at Jaffa port and on the beaches— the day before Shavuout. This year’s White Night theme, “Little Tel Aviv,” commemorated the city’s 100th anniversary and featured special activities to celebrate the city’s cultural and historical heritage. With too many enticing options to choose from, we decided to head first to Bialik street where a 1920’s European-style café was set up in the square, complete with white tablecloths and flowers on the tables and plenty of beer, coffee and other refreshments for sale at the brightly illuminated “Café Bialik” kiosk. Costumed “newboys” distributed broadsheets with the news of the day (1909) to the “customers” as they began to stream in at dusk. We snagged a couple of chairs and parked ourselves up on the verandah of the Felicia Blumenthal Center next to the municipal building where the musicians were setting up.
With the white moon rising in the balmy night sky, the haunting sounds of Yair Dalal and his Bedoin-Balkan ensemble of violin, oud, sitar, Bedouin flute and percussion players, created a haunting and spirited ambience. A gaggle of little girls, joined by a couple of lively older women, jumped and swayed with the music in the limited open space directly in front of the band. Closing my eyes, I could feel myself transported to a bedoin tent in the desert. And that’s exactly where Yair Dalal often finds himself. An Israeli musician and composer of Iraqi-Jewish descent, he plays the oud and the violin and sings, drawing on Arab, Jewish, classical European and Indian traditions in his original compositions. He is also a peace activist, working to build communication and understanding through collaboration with bedoin and Palestinian musicians.
As the night progressed, the plaza became more and more packed with groups of chatting, drinking and smoking young people mixed in with families and hip alta kakers (older folks--us!). After a brief intermission, a parade of 15 hippie-esque brass, wind and percussion players, their instruments held high above their heads, snaked through the crowd to the stage. Time to PARTAY with the Marsh Dondurma Band!! Taking their name from a favorite Turkish ice cream,this wild and crazy street band from Jerusalem packs a punch with their foot-stomping klezmer-inspired eclectic mix of jazz, Balkan, funk, New Orleans, gypsy, and Latin grooves to traditional and original tunes. I especially liked their high-energy version of Ellington’s Blue Pepper featuring some wailin’ sax and horn solos.
Energized and curious about what was going on elsewhere we spent another hour and a half following the crowds (and the music) around town before hopping into a taxi for the last stretch home in the wee hours. I wasn’t all that tired and was tempted to bike up to Tzuk beach for the sunrise concert by pop star Yehudit Ravitz, but we had plans to pull an all-nighter for Shavuout the following evening so I resisted. It’s hard work keeping up with both the secular and spiritual dimensions of Israeli culture but as a true Gemini I can swing both ways.
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