In Israel, history becomes hagiography, that is, every loss connected with the establishment and defense of the nation is worthy of commemoration.  During HL’s and my afternoon stroll on the boardwalk, we passed a new monument to those who perished on the ship Atalena before they could fight the British Mandate forces in 1948.

         The images of those taken hostage by Hamas on 7 October are everywhere.  Their names and faces greeted us at the airport.  The exhortation to Bring Them Back is not restricted to graffiti and T-shirts, but appears on billboards and the walls of cafés, schools, post offices and all manner of buildings.  The absence of the captives still in Gaza is a grief that has its own mute presence, one palpable to all Israelis.  It unites them in anguish, however they differ in outlook regarding any other topic.

         The Shuk Ha-Carmel, or Carmel market, is a bazaar where one can purchase inexpensive goods.  It was bustling, busier than I had expected that it would be on a Tuesday.  Bring Them Home, and other more vengeful messages, decorated shirts, backpacks, bandannas and bracelets.  I was there to obtain some items that I still needed in order to function without the contents of my missing suitcase.  A message from the retrieval service hinted at the bag’s delivery on the following day.  Meanwhile, I replaced essential supplies and, in the process, even acquired some fripperies.

         On Tuesday evening, we met Daniela and Ari at Habima Square to attend a jazz concert in the magnificently named Palace of Culture (Heychal Tarbeut).  First, we fortified ourselves with some pizza at a nearby eatery, where pieces cut to one’s specifications were sold according to weight.  By 9 PM, we had taken our seats in one of the smallest theaters within the Palace.  It was the perfect size to hear a jazz combo, as the stage was well within view of every seat.

         The program featured Eli Degibri and his ensemble.  Degibri is a saxophonist, composer and bandleader famous in Israel and in international jazz circles.  He had produced a new album dedicated to his elderly parents.  Degibri played with great invention and energy, complemented by a superb pianist, bassist and drummer.

         A string section consisting of two violinists, a violist and a cellist joined the quartet for the last part of the program.  It was an extremely affecting composition that was the jazz equivalent of a tone poem.  Of course it was about the current war, beginning with a pastoral melody and swelling into a frenetic interplay of drums and saxophone.  It subsided into a wrenching threnody that silenced the audience for a moment before it gave Degibri and his musicians a standing ovation.  The 7 October attack and its aftermath are the national text and subtext, an inescapable undercurrent in the flow of daily activities.  Degibri’s was an excellent concert, though it feels wrong to me to call it entertainment.

The Atalena monument was a recent and somber addition to the Tel Aviv beachfront.

A more whimsical artwork was the sculpture entitled Beyond the Limits, an upside-down monkey atop a cacao pod, by Zadok Ben David.

I enjoyed shopping at the Shuk ha-Carmel, and would have done so even if I had my found my luggage at the baggage claim in Ben Gurion airport when I first arrived.

The sign atop the Palace of Culture expressed the national desire unequivocally.

At the Tony Vespa pizzeria, I learned how large a piece of pizza weighs 100 grams.

If you have the chance to see Eli Degibri perform, I recommend that you do so, even if you are not a jazz aficionado.