Spring in Wartime Israel, 5: A Taste of Yafo, 3 May 2024

July 14, 2024  •  Leave a Comment

         When one’s bus stop affords a Mediterranean view, using public transportation cannot be said to constitute a hardship.
Tel Aviv’s bus system provides frequent, inexpensive service to most of the city.  Public transit is improving here to meet the needs of the metropolis.  There is intracity light rail and even a subway.  The underground construction will inconvenience the denizens for years to come, though it promises relief for surface traffic congestion eventually.

          We rode into Florentin to meet Daniela on Friday afternoon.  She conducted us to Yafo’s old Flea Market. Yafo, or Jaffa, was an Arab port for centuries.  In 1909, some Jewish residents founded Tel Aviv in the sand dunes adjacent to the ancient port.  After Israel won its independence in 1948, Tel Aviv quickly came to dominate its elder neighbor in size and population.

            Some decades ago, avant-garde artists, Jewish and otherwise, moved into Yafo’s lofts and living spaces.  They were attracted by the low rents and the town’s distinctive, if dilapidated, Levantine style.  Yafo has since become fashionable.  Predictably, used goods stands now are giving way to vintage apparel shops, and street food vendors to restaurateurs.  Middle Eastern music played from storefront speakers as shoppers prepared for Shabbat.  Some youthful revelers congregated at the bars, starting their weekends only slightly prematurely.

            We craved falafel and had some for lunch, on freshly baked pita.  The falafel were cooked to order.  The food was delicious, but the gratification of my gastronomic whim was not the most notable aspect of the experience.  In people’s interactions, I sensed no hostility to mar the pre-Shabbat mood.  The dangers of war and the omnipresent accusation of the hostages’ faces may make our divisions seem inevitable and our future blighted.  For a few hours in Yafo, however, I could believe in a better time.


Gordon Beach, where we would board the bus

Parking in Tel Aviv’s narrow residential streets requires both nerve and skill.

An alley in Yafo’s old Flea Market

The man who prepared our falafel looked like a Jewish Ethiopian, though he might have been an Eritrean guest worker.

Fine dining with Daniela and HL
 


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