Wednesday, March 10, 2010
from Tel Aviv
Monday night, March 8, evening. Tel Aviv:
I sit with my friend Marcey in Cafe Hakovshim near the sea and listen to the Hebrew, and see the enjoyment of the young people, their laughter, their hugs, their ease. And the skyscrapers of Tel Aviv rise lit up in the background, against this older part of town. This used to be within the city limits of Jaffa, the heart of urban Palestinian civilization -- destroyed in 1948 --the major center of urban Palestinian life. My friend Marcey points out the green-lit minaret of a mosque, now unused. We dip our bread into humus and "ful" in a cafe in the center of Tel Aviv and Jaffa is a pimple on its surface. The large Shuk HaCarmel open-air vegetable and fruit market, vibrant in the daytime, lies across from here. The beach cross the street from Marcey's place is dotted with umbrellas and people. Marcey says there will be a break in the heat tomorrow.
4:30 a.m. I wake up in the early morning and hear roosters in the near distance. Chanting: the call to prayer broadcast electronically to a people no longer there to worship. Otherwise, I hear traffic, cars speeding by on the main drag. Speeding by. The sound of roosters underneath. The old world buried under the new—an old world -- seething. The rush of jets overhead. The cars. The young people. Underneath from some echo of the past—something -- a life -- buried here.
Posted by Fred at 1:41 PM