Aliyah Blog 93: Old Yafo (Jaffa)

The plan

On a very rainy day, I searched for an indoor activity for my I-try-to-go-somewhere-new-one-a-week trip. That landed me at the Ilana Goor museum in Jaffa … I was supposed to go to Jaffa 25 years ago on my first visit to Israel and instead, my young tour guide took me to his apartment and rolled a joint for me. Ahh, there’s a time and place for everything and it’s called college.

Early in the morning on a rainy day, finding parking was easy. The sign on the museum is large and visible from a distance, next to the Uri Geller museum (famous Israeli magician) though shows are only on Shabbos at 1pm there.

Then – like many times before, the main attraction wasn’t where I was intended to go. Why didn’t anyone explain to me what’s here?

Peace in the rain

It’s hard to describe the sense of calm, being pulled into the wet cobblestone streets with a hood over my head to protect from the rain. With no wind, a sea on one side, stone buildings on the other, and only an occasional car at a street that ends and becomes a wide cobblestone pedestrian street with the only inhabitants two workmen working on a streetlight, the sense of peace pulled any worries out of my chest.

Being at the beginning of a large storm that headed our way all the way from Greece, the waves crashed high on the barrier of a port first inhabited thousands of years ago, described in the book of Yonah [Jonah], with small craft including sailboats like something out of the Kings Quest series. DuoLingo taught me the word “namal”, a word that I thought was a waste to learn except it’s all over the “port” of Yafo.

A single cafe was open with a shivering dog outside – I found the owner and told him his dog was cold – he didn’t budge much so I said, “hoo hared” – he’s shivering. From the group of Jews called by that name, I knew the verb. The man thanked me and rushed out to take care of his dog.

Ilana Goor Museum

Circling around back to the Ilana Goor museum, I asked at the desk – about the size of a school desk – if it was a busy day, using a newly learned Hebrew word. We then had a short conversation in Hebrew where I said things like, “I prefer to start on the top floor and work my way down – and I only told you that because I wanted to practice saying it.”

The friendliness and genuine happiness, calmness, and healthy-looking-ness of people here is so refreshing. At the very busy pre-made-Shabbos food place this morning I was in a New York style anxious state to get another salad for the 3-salad discount with a line behind me, and the lady at the register (“kupiat” – or “cash register-ist” (thanks son for that) says, “take your time – we’ll wait.” You’re ringing up easily 500 people today – with American-like efficiency – and you’re that calm?

Anywho, the museum was, shall we say, “not my taste”. I kept confusing the name with “Dora Maar”, a rhyming (according to me) French artist – I filed a trademark in her name and visited her house too – and if you know that artist, they’re similar … at least to me … in that neither of their art is my taste.

Ilana Goor seems to have had the good fortune of location, location, location with a large family house on the sea, which is now cluttered with posters covering every inch of wall in some places, three-dimensional art (like tree roots – put it in a natural history museum), sculptures (a big metal gluteus maximus faces you upon exit from the bathroom), and prints, prints, prints … and a kitchen filled with metal cookware of ye olde times. (“Ye” is pronounced “the” – the old English letter that looks like “Ye” is the “th” sound and we should have kept it.)

The gift shop – nothing to write home in a blog about.

Wandering Around the Yafo

The ancient port city of Yafo abuts miles of sand dunes which are now Tel Aviv and the airport gets to be called “Tel Aviv – Yafo” which, on the one hand, makes little sense because Tel Aviv is really the city here, and on the other hand, since Yafo is the thousands of years old port, the name makes sense to use in an airport.

Now sunny and warming up, I wondered in another direction, past many artist and jewelry galleries, and a blue theme, this place started to look like a cross between Tzvat and the old city of Jerusalem which makes sense as it’s between the two … with some French characteristics which turned out to be a building built by the French. Ah. That explains that.

I want one of these trees suspended by cables.

Few restaurants were located, and most not kosher. The old city of Yafo, with its art, seems to be the secular version of the old cities of Tzvat and Jerusalem. I stepped into a small supermarket with mezuzahs on each door frame and only Arabs working there and bought some tuna/couscous packaged container, coconut water, and protein yogurt with very little sugar. It’s hard to comprehend how much sugar is put into American yogurt.

Finally finding a store that looked interesting and lacking very expensive jewelry, the darkness inside created for a strange ambiance. Then the cash regiser-ist said to me that everything was 20% off today because they didn’t have electricity and, in the rain, Israelis don’t come. “No, I think [the only other customer in the store] is Israeli” – the cash register-ist asks across the store if that’s true and the lady says, “I am, though I’m from France.” They have rain in France too.

“All our things are made by local artists” which I find a funny sentence because was the industrial revolution came until probably until at least WWII people like mass production. It was Henry Ford’s advertising slogan referring to the quality and low cost. Now we upcharge for local products.

I was eyeing a candle for “gamad anak” – the Jewish equivalent of “secret santa” – which the cash register-ist heard of because she’ watches American television to learn English that she said she didn’t learn well in school. She also works with tourists, she explains. Then the electricity went back on and she was thrilled while I was worried I just lost my 20% discount. Thankfully, I didn’t.

Then I went to pay, having forced her to speak to me only in Hebrew, and she slipped into English by accident and explained that people who can’t speak much more Hebrew than “hello”, “goodbye”, and “thank you” suddenly rattle off their phone numbers in Hebrew numbers. Your phone number is used for everything here – slightly more than you’re teudat zehut – you’re Israeli identification number. While Jews are all about, “names, not numbers” because that’s how the Nazis dehumanized us, we sure do like when we call each other by our numbers. I guess it’s like how black people can call themselves that certain name (which is not an ethnic slur in Israel) and we can’t.

Finishing up my walk

Passing my car and having some more time, I continued my walk in the other, other, other direction (having already gone “the other direction” and a second “other direction” already) to the water where between the rain of a multi-day storm the waves crashed onto the concrete barrier wall which lead to a large green park up the hill with a view of the city.

The playground was called “Ninja” though clearly designed based on “American Ninja”. That’s another fun thing about Israel – playgrounds are unique. The GameTime company has taken over New Jersey playgrounds with a “Play It Safe” list of rules and plasticware forming the same tiresome climbing structures. Seesaws are no longer (nor in Israel, come to think of it).

Finally, back to my car, it was time to drive home marveling at how much diversity there is in Israel.