Part 3: Judean Hills and Tel Aviv

Judean Hills

Seeing Micha was the main reason for this trip. We would finally meet up with him today. I was excited to see him for the first time in what seemed like years. He moved to Israel about the same time John and I moved to Canada and we don’t always have the opportunity to get together when he visits his moms in the US. I think young people often don't realize how important they are to their elders. 

John, Micha and Don go wine touring

John again hired a guide, this time to give the three of us a tour of wineries in the Judean hills then take us on to Tel Aviv—someone who knew the good places and could be a designated driver. At 9 a.m. we met Barak Yitzhaki outside our hotel in Jerusalem in his new vehicle. He was about 35, very engaging, and quite the wine aficionado. A few minutes later Micha arrived from Tel Aviv. Lots of hugs and kisses. 

Today is Purim, a Jewish holiday that has somehow morphed into an Israeli equivalent of Halloween—we noticed that costume pop-up stores appeared everywhere along Jaffa Street, here in the heart of orthodoxy. Appropriately, Purim is celebrated by drinking mass quantities of wine. So here’s to Purim.

There is a plot line in the novel I’m writing about a young American woman named Esther (no intentional connection to the Biblical persona for whom Purim is celebrated) who visits Jerusalem on the day that Israel declares its statehood in 1948. Led by her cousin, who grew up in Palestine, they escape the Arab League’s blockade of the city to a nearby town from which all the Muslim residents have fled. I had asked our wine guy if he could drive us through this village so I could see it and get a sense of its topography, which is important to my story. Barak had a hard time understanding why we would want to go there. It’s now just a boring suburban neighbourhood called Ora. What I didn’t tell him was that in 1948 Ora was a Muslim town called Al-Jura, just inside the green line of the new state of Israel. The Palestinian exodus known as the Nakba forced more than 700,000 Muslim residents out of Israeli territory, including some 500 in Al-Jura. By 1950 the old village had been demolished and rebuilt as a Jewish settlement. The characters in my story play a part in this colonialist strategy. The practice continues even today across the West Bank, seventy years later.

With Barak on the right at the Forest of Martyrs

 

Barak accommodated my request to see Ora since it was on the way to the first winery. We parked at a high vantage point.We had a view from the northeast to the southeast, Jerusalem to Bethlehem, and I was able to trace in my mind the route my characters would take on foot. Barak also took us to see a nearby park in the Forest of the Martyrs. It has a monument to the partisans lost in the war in 1948, who I plan to work into my story.

Our first winery, Tzuba, is owned and operated by a kibbutz. Before we went inside for the tasting, Barak showed us an adjoining archaeological site that was down a trail below the winery on the flanks of a hill. It was an ancient wine press—a basin carved from the limestone rock, where the grapes were pressed (they think) by a levered plank.

Ruins of ancient stone wine press

The juice ran through a trough and was captured in amphorae. Bowl shapes were carved in the stone to balance the round bottoms of the clay amphora jars. Next to the wine press, partially uncovered, was what is believed to be an olive oil press. These artifacts are dated at 2800 years old. Wildflowers were blooming on the hillside as we walked back up to the winery.

Micha was anxious to start sampling their five wines. All were excellent. The winemaker was originally from South Africa. He and his wife manage the operation with only a few seasonal helpers.

Our next (and favourite) winery was Flam. It was a bigger operation and more along the lines of the European estate model. I think it was also Barak’s favourite. It is run by two brothers. Their father had been a pioneer in the wine industry in Israel. The young woman who greeted us was very fun and chatty. In addition to the wines available to taste, she let us try a sold-out reserve cabernet.

Trying the wine at the Tzuba kibbutz

The third winery was Tzora. The tasting room was surrounded by farm land and animals. It had the familiar aroma from my rural childhood of manure and hay. We tasted one white wine and one red from their 2016 vintage, and an ice wine, which was unique because the grapes have to be mechanically frozen (it doesn’t get cold enough here in the fall for them to chill on the vine).

Barak gave us a wonderful tour. His commentary was informative and he even did some historical research. Our leisurely drive through the hills was lovely, catching up with Micha (Barak pronounced his name Meeka). After the last winery he drove us to Tel Aviv. We dropped Micha in his neighbourhood south of the city center (Barak told John and me that this is a very impoverished part of the city, most of its inhabitants are refugees from Africa, slated to be deported by Netanyahu). Micha’s boyfriend Paul from Germany was arriving soon. He needed to prepare for a weekend of Purim parties with Paul. Hopefully, we would see more of him over the next few days. Barak took John and me to Tel Aviv’s Yemenite neighbourhood to the B&B we rented. It’s an older part of downtown with very narrow streets. It is four blocks from the sea, and two blocks from the busy Carmel market. This would be our home base for the next week.

Late afternoon we walked around our neighbourhood and through the Carmel market. It's amazing—at least six blocks long maybe more, stalls on both sides of the street under awnings and rusty roofs. It’s been here a long time. The merchants have these huge metal boxes, about two meters square and a meter high, that fold out into long tables to display their wares and then are folded back in and locked up at night. Lots of fruit and vegetable stands, small cafes with all sorts of street food, t-shirts and swimwear, bakeries, meat and fish stalls, hardware and knickknack stores. 

Most of the buildings in the surrounding streets are one, two, and three story residences. We made note of several interesting-looking restaurants. 

The side streets in our neighbourhood are so narrow that if one car parks here, others can’t get by. It’s nice if you’re a pedestrian. Our B&B was one room, up two flights of stairs. It was a little funky, but it had a large balcony overlooking the street corner, perfect for sunny morning coffee and shaded afternoon naps. Flocks of swifts darted around the rooftops making shrill peeps. You can see newer high-rise buildings in every direction beyond this old neighbourhood. Here there are small temples, social clubs, and lots of cats. (Did I mention that Jerusalem, too, had lots of cats, but Tel-avivi cats seem fatter and more laid back). Just outside the Carmel market the street opens into a square with dozens of fabric shops. We liked the looks of a sidewalk bistro called Basta and had an excellent dinner.

About 11 p.m. we learned that our neighbourhood was slated as the site of an outdoor Purim party, the first of several around the city tonight through the weekend. The music and festivities were extremely loud and lasted until 4 a.m. Being old guys who rise early, we were too tired to check it out, and we got little sleep that night. I vowed to buy ear plugs the next day.

View of Tel Aviv from Jaffa

Thursday morning we walked four blocks down to the Mediterranean Sea then south to the old Arab city of Jaffa (Yafo to the Israelis). It wasn’t far, maybe 2K. The shoreline is being upgraded with new pedestrian and bike ways and parks. It’s very nice.

Old Jaffa port

There are some lovely views of TLV, the old port, and Arab architecture from Jaffa’s high point. We had shakshuka and tea for breakfast across from a hotel and gallery complex occupying the old buildings, then walked back along the waterfront. Micha and Paul texted us that we should meet for a late lunch around 2. We invited them over for a bottle of wine on our balcony.

Paul and Micha

This was our first time meeting Paul Peter Johann Linder, Micha’s boyfriend from Germany who spoke English quite well. He works as a banking advisor to wealthy clients, but is recently taking some time off to travel. He seemed much more well-ordered than the impulsiveness that is Micha. Paul loves gay Tel Aviv and visits frequently. We uncorked one of the bottles of wine we bought yesterday on our tour, toasting each other, Purim, and the city.

For our late lunch we checked out informal eateries near Allenby Street. They were quite busy. We ended up at a cafeteria-style serving-line offering dozens of classic Mediterranean dishes—eggplant ten ways, hummus, tahini, the ubiquitous cucumber and tomato salad (eaten at every meal), grilled meats, ktsitsot and kofta (meatballs), kibbeh, schnitzel, ful, loads of other spicy vegetables. Micha was a little disappointed that I wasn’t more adventuresome in my selections (I went for comfort foods), but I assured him I was sampling lots of unusual dishes on this trip. We talked about going to some of Micha’s favourite restaurants over the next couple of days, and I suggested we make at least one dinner at his apartment, though he warned me that his kitchen was quite limited.

John and I needed to pick up washing that we had dropped off yesterday. The employees at the laundry didn’t speak much English, so it was good Micha was there, because they couldn’t find our stuff. Our frustration was mounting when the boss arrived and knew where it was. Whew. Micha and Paul were itching to put together their Purim costumes, so we parted company. I got the feeling we might not see much of them for the rest of the weekend. John and I walked around the city and back to our neighbourhood. I was a little worried that our presence made Micha anxious and clingy around Paul.

Tel Aviv is quite different from Jerusalem. You rarely see ultra-orthodox dress here. People are much more beach casual—it could be a seaside city in Spain or Florida. Where Jerusalem is ancient and limestone, much of Tel Aviv was constructed in the 1940s and 50s and is deteriorating stucco. Boxy Bauhaus buildings are white or off-white. Cement plaster repairs are often unpainted and stained, making everything look a little patchy and rundown. Some of the newer architecture is more interesting, but even the Great Synagogue is kind of ugly. Thankfully, the upgrade to the waterfront adds much appeal with its groovy, undulating sidewalks and broad promenade that attracts throngs of pedestrians and beach-goers.

Rosh Tzipor

Friday morning John and I went bird watching at Rosh Tzipor along the Yarkon River. It’s a lovely park full of rose-ringed parakeets, mynas, and Egyptian geese, lots of songbirds and waterfowl. Being naturalists, we always take time to appreciate the flora and fauna of places we travel to. This urban park has had recent habitat restoration work, especially for the birding area.

Rose-ringed parakeets

Extensive trails make it a popular biking site. We walked to near the mouth of the river then turned south along the seawall and had breakfast on the beach.

John had heard that a colony of bats lived in the parking garage of a downtown shopping mall below ground level on floor number minus three (-3), so we tried to find it. Everyone goes through a scanner to enter the mall. We searched but couldn’t find the bat colony. People were out strolling and picnicking in their Purim costumes up and down Rothschild Blvd.— everything from tiny masked tots in strollers to a legion of bare-chested ‘Roman soldiers’ in skimpy gold lamè skirts.

Carmel Market was crazy busy this afternoon before Shabbat. We bought olives and bread, deli meats, cheeses, olive oil, pears, wine and beer, and had our own little picnic. Then we napped on our balcony and read. I was tuckered out. We walked a long way today. Just before sundown I went to a nearby cafeteria (like the one Micha took us to) and got some prepared take-out dishes for dinner.

One day's garbage at Carmel. Locked vendor boxes.

Later John and I took a nighttime walk on the beach then back through the Carmel market which was now closed and piled high with the garbage of the day—an astounding amount of trash that gets scooped up, carted away and the street hosed down. Poor people picked through discarded vegetables, cats scavenged and hunted.

The toilet in our flat had been leaking since we moved in. Tank water from a bad seal. We contacted the manager. It’s Saturday morning—no work is done today. They will come and fix it tomorrow.

We had a nice breakfast on the balcony—olives, bread, cheese, tomato salad—then a walk on the beach.

John found an address online for a gallery of street art (which he knows I love). It’s in the nearby Florentin neighbourhood, so we headed over there, but we couldn’t find the gallery.

Then we realized the streets themselves are the art gallery. Because of Shabbat, all the storefront security doors were closed and they are all painted with incredibly inventive graffiti. During regular business hours we wouldn’t have seen this. The style of a couple of artists stood out. John took lots of photos. I admit I don't know the significance of these images, so I hope they are not offensive. A late afternoon beer, then we trudged home.

Sunday morning we decided to check out spice row on Levinsky Street then go to the art museum. Levinsky was a little like the medina in Fez, Morocco—a couple of blocks of tiny shops displaying pyramidal mounds of red and orange and brown spices—paprika, pimiento, sumac, saffron, ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg, plus nuts and seeds. There’s nothing like this in our part of the world.

It’s funny. Telavivis seem to concentrate one type of product in a small area—a dozen fabric stores in two blocks, a dozen spice shops here, graffiti art in one neighbourhood, what else?  It was a long walk across town to the art museum complex. Only then did we learn that it’s closed today. Rats.

So we decided to treat ourselves to a fantastic lunch at Santa Katarina. We got a text message from Micha and Paul. After two solid days of partying (we saw pictured on Instagram), they proposed going to dinner tonight at a Yemeni resto that Micha likes.

At sundown John and I walked along Rothschild Blvd looking for fruit bats. There is a spot in the tree-lined median of this wide boulevard where they are said to hang out. They seem to like these trees, tho it was too early for ripe fruit. Do their leaves exude a sweetness? We sat on a bench and watched them swooping around the heads of oblivious pedestrians.

It was just a short distance to the restaurant where we met Micha and Paul. They regaled us with tales of their weekend parties as we supped on home-style Yemini dishes. Tel Aviv’s cuisine is influenced by many cultures and is really tasty. The Mediterranean diet has far less meat than even I realized, and I loved it. John and I talked about our experiences in Palestine and discussed Israel’s cruel occupation. “What can we do to end this?” I asked. Micha was exasperated and a bit defensive and suggested I save my questions for tomorrow night. He had arranged for us to meet “Aunty Itamar,” a treasured gay friend who had guided him in his first couple of years here and who is among what I perceive as a minority of Israelis—those opposed to the occupation.

Monday we went back to the art museum. The plaza that had been filled with children and picnickers yesterday was now mostly empty. It’s a huge arts centre with a theatre, opera house, art museum with workshops, and a library, all relatively new. The museum had an impressive collection of artists I have recently been reading about: Utrillo, Archipenko, Ernst, Chagall, Pissaro, and Vlaminck, impressionism and post impressionism. But the most interesting exhibit was The Clock—staged in a large room with a 20-foot movie screen and overstuffed chairs and sofas. The exhibit was a 24-hour continuous montage of famous film clips (Hitchcock, Keaton, Spielberg, Chaplin, Serling, thousands more) where a clock was in the frame for the exact moment the clip was being shown. So for example, we got there about noon and all the film clips portrayed a time period from noon until we stopped watching about 12:30. It was fascinating and very suspenseful, since watching a clock often heightens the tension in a film. Christian Marclay was the artist. Afterward, a little sidewalk café called Shmuel adjacent to Carmel was where we had lunch. Excellent kebab. It was on an intersection between the market and a side street to our B&B, a place we cut through several times.

A fat black cat sat on a black motorcycle near my elbow eyeing my lunch selections.

Meeting Itamar was one of the highlights of Tel Aviv for me. Micha admires him. Itamar lived and worked in the mostly Arab neighbourhood of Jaffa, where we had dinner with him, Micha and Paul. He was a teacher here for several years. The place we ate was one of his favourite restaurants. He knew all the waiters. He told us the best dishes to order. He now lives near Galilee and has a B&B. He and his partner are planting a vineyard. He’s such sweet guy (and apparently sends periodic updates to Lynn and Lisa, who rely on him to keep tabs on their boy).

Itamar, Micha, and Paul in Jaffa

Itamar is critical of Israel’s occupation and we talked a bit about what he sees happening. He and I agree that the two-state solution has been effectively killed by Netanyahu and the Israeli settler movement. Racism is rampant. Even if a Palestinian state were to be established, Israel would control it militarily, which offers little hope to Palestinians. I think the question is: can a Jewish state ever accept Palestinians as equal citizens, or will Israel keep them trapped forever in an apartheid prison? (Today as I write this the IDF fired on unarmed civilians protesting in Gaza, killing 18 and wounding almost 800. The conditions in Gaza are appalling and no one can leave). Itamar indicated that he thinks things are unlikely to improve in our lifetimes. 2018 marks 70 years of Israeli statehood and Palestinian occupation—the lifetime of my generation.

My favourite thing that Itamar said, which matches my impression: “Tel Aviv is not a city to see. It is a city to live.” There is little of great beauty here, but TLV is vivacious, there is so much happening, especially if you are a young gay man. After dinner the five of us walked through the streets of Jaffa and took selfies. We said goodbye to Itamar.  Micha and Paul walked us the short distance toward TLV where they were meeting some friends. As we hugged goodbye Micha abruptly announced that this was the last time we’d see him—he had to work tomorrow, they had plans in the evening, and John and I were leaving the morning after. The disappointment on my face must have been obvious. We had not seen his apartment nor made a meal together. Now I was the one who was anxious and clingy.

Later Micha called and suggested a change of plans: tomorrow afternoon we could shop in his Hatikva shuk (street market) and make an early dinner at his place. I couldn’t help wondering if Paul had said something.

A Banksy on the beach

Tuesday morning John and I did laundry at a coin-op on Allenby and had breakfast near the market. We strolled through a large craft fair that was setting up in the square. I couldn’t find any t-shirts I liked. John got a kick out of hand-crafted ‘car mezuzahs,’ intended to be attached near one’s car door for good luck.

We were to meet Micha about 3 pm. John and I got a taxi to the Hatikva neighbourhood early enough to stroll through their market before going to Micha’s apartment. This is said to be the poorest neighbourhood in TLV. There are many more black and brown people than we have seen in the rest of Israel. The dress is African and Arab. The shuk here is newer and wider than Carmel’s and maybe as big. So many vegetables. I looked for butcher shops—I had promised to make lamb chops for four.

Micha lives in a relatively new building. He buzzed us up and gave us a tour. His roommate Oshri works at night and was asleep so we needed to be quiet. Paul was visiting some old friends across town and would be here soon. We surveyed the kitchen implements and larder, then headed to the market. Micha’s a good negotiator and speaks Hebrew fluently. I loved shopping with him. He made us try a Purim pastry. We bought eggplant, garlic, olive oil, tomatoes for a chop salad, wine…and a double rack of lamb—kind of expensive, 3 chops each for 4 adult men with some leftovers for the house.

Dinner at Micha's: I've always loved cooking with him

Back at the ranch we carved the ribs and upper loin into chops. I showed Micha how to “French the bone”—a term that sounds suggestive, but really is just cutting away the sinew and meat from the rib bone to make a sort of handle—he would get another meal from these prime lamb scraps. We marinated the eyes of the chops in olive oil, minced garlic, salt and pepper to pan fry later. John and I had been eating a lot of charred eggplant (a specialty of the Levant), so I wanted to show Micha a different preparation—how my mother learned to cook eggplant in France, dipped in egg-wash and bread crumbs and fried (she had never eaten eggplant before going to Europe in 1944). I fixed the eggplant and he made a tomato, cucumber, kohlrabi, and feta salad.

Oshri, Micha’s long-time roommate, is a waiter and was off to work, but I’m glad we got to meet him. He seems very sweet. Paul arrived and put on some musicfor us—he likes mid-century European divas, as do I. The dinner Micha and I made was fabulous. The lamb was perfect, the salad refreshing. The eggplant turned out okay.

Cooking and drinking and listening to music, the four of us had some tender and confessional discussions. It was the closest I have ever felt to Micha. I think the evening was deeply emotional for all of us, but particularly for him. John and I over-imbibed and needed his help to get a taxi—two inebriated old gay white guys stumbling home arm in arm in a foreign city making inappropriate comments, sheesh. It was good we had help. Our farewell was sad and awkward. 

Later that evening John and I saw a cryptic post on Facebook that Micha had decided to break up with Paul. Oh man. I felt like we’d failed him somehow, but I wasn’t sure the reasons. I texted him over the next few days to see how he was doing. Okay he said, and not to worry. He was needing more sensitivity, less judgment. I got the feeling it wasn't a deep disagreement. Maybe they would get back together. Micha will likely be in the US this summer—he doesn't like the sweltering heat of the Israeli desert. I hope we will have a chance to talk more. I love him to pieces. He is my muse.