Life on Bialik Street
reflects a modern, secular Israeli community in central Tel Aviv. The Bauhaus architecture, trees, and parrots
give me the feeling of swinging on a vine in an urban jungle. I explore the neighborhood while staying at a
sublet apartment on Bialik Street for the month of May.
Firstly, the
street emerges from the circular fountain at Bialik Square like a bicycle spoke. I suppose it’s a communal,
pedestrian-friendly feature of urban planning in the 1930s. The Bauhaus buildings have rounded balconies,
large windows, and tall ceilings.
Plastic blinds block the sun during the heat of the day. Palm trees grow as high as the
buildings.
I speed-walk
down the smooth sidewalks to gather my impressions of the street. Rounding the bend at Allenby Street, I window-shop
a bit to find the Israeli youth must-haves --- hipster skateboards and
Australian Blundstone boots. Closed red
velvet curtains at Bialik Café indicate when musical performances take place. After frequently walking past “269 life” and
the red silhouette of a goat tagged on walls and metal sheet fences, I look it
up online. It turns out that vegan
activists graffiti these to protest the cruelty of the meat industry. In addition, I often stumble across giveaway
clothes on benches and fences. Some
locals turn out to be generous yet lazy spring-cleaners. Unfortunately, unclaimed secondhand items
eventually fall to the ground, get dirty beyond use, and then end up in trash
bins.
The street takes
snapshots of everyday Israeli life.
Friends schmooze with cups of coffee at the outdoor tables on the
corner. Mothers navigate the telephone
pole as they push extra wide strollers.
Fathers walk with their newborn babies swaddled to their chests. Parents buckle their children into the front
and back seats of their bikes. Riders
park their motorbikes in diagonal rows, blocking the sidewalk. Groups of children visit the museums on
school field trips. In the evenings housemates pull back the plastic accordion
blinds to watch the sunset on their balconies.
Bialik Square
brings the community together throughout the day. Locals and tourists daydream at the edge of
the water while gazing at the red and orange koi swimming beneath the pink
water lilies. Fitness instructors train
students to perform lunges and planks on the benches. Owners let their dogs off leash to play and
jump into the fountain. Parents keep a
hand on their toddlers as they crawl around the fountain. One evening musicians perform jazz at the
lawn of the Bialik House. Two teenage
sisters with long curly hair gaze skyward as they let go of a purple balloon.
Bialik Street
lies at arm reach of the Mediterranean Sea, King George Park, and the HaCarmel
Shouk. It’s a perfect location for
swimming, resting in the shade of trees, and shopping for fresh fruit and vegetables. I pop over to King George Street whenever I’m
hungry. Miznon serves grilled vegetables
in pita pockets with tahini, sour cream, pickles, and cabbage. The Market serves coconut curry lentil stew
on white rice with cilantro. At the
HaCarmel Shouk, Hummus HaCarmel serves hummus with fava beans, eggs, pickle
relish, onions, and tahini. I pick up
some fresh cherries and melons on my way out of the sweaty hustle. After emerging from the shouk on Allenby
Street, I swing by the Etrog Medicine Man juice shop to flirt with the staff;
order a kale, parsley, and ginger juice; and get spritzed in the face with etrog
mist.
My building at
Bialik Street 17 feels especially serene after a trip to the shouk. Of course, the old Bauhaus building has its
quirks. The jungle can easily take over
as the building falls apart. One tenant
has glued a sketch of a cat above one of the first steps of the stairwell. Dirt collects in the corners of the wide
yellow steps. The electricity in the stairwell
fails to turn on. In the evenings,
tenants must clamber up the steps while holding onto the wooden rail or sliding
their hands against the tiled walls.
It’s a daily exercise to empathize with the blind. Roof access gives a view of the neighborhood
skyline, balconies, and backyards with outdoor dining tables and grills. It was a great place to have a BBQ and watch
the Israeli Air Force flybys on Independence Day.
The apartment
has its eccentricities, too. Firstly, the
door shares a corner with the neighboring apartment door. This sometimes leads to awkward moments of
neighbors sharing door space or shocking each other when opening or closing
doors at the same time. Secondly, each
door in the building has different types of materials and locks. The lock at my apartment is strangely located
at the center of the door. Inside, the
lights do not turn on in the hallway or bathroom. Next, in the toilet closet the electric
switch is located at the hinge of the door.
Lastly, the kitchen has a stainless steel countertop and sink unit. It’s just low enough The laundry line is outside the kitchen
window, which has a view of Dizengoff Tower and the rooftops of the buildings
encircling Bialik Square.
Human negligence
and greed may eventually allow nature to win the battle against
civilization. There’s a good chance the
building may one day fully transform into an urban jungle. The landlord expects the tenants to pay for
all of the repairs. He’s also slow. For example, it takes him three weeks to
arrive to replace the gas on the stove.
My housemate pays 200 shekels and the landlord brags about contributing
50 shekels to the total cost of 250 shekels. This explains why nothing seems to work well.
The apartment
floors aspire to be as earthy as possible.
Cleanliness is entirely optional.
When I first arrive, I cannot believe the amount of dust, sand, and hair
on the floor. Receipts and dust bunnies blow
out from under the bed and wardrobes when I open the window. I take a deep breath and resolve to clean the
space. Although it’s just a month
sublet, I cannot live like this, I tell myself.
It only takes a couple of hours to sweep and wash the floor with the
squeegee mop, an essential Israeli housecleaning item. It’s easy to guide the water to the pipe hole
with the plastic lid in the bathroom.
After a few weeks, I notice that my housemate does not reciprocate in
any way with cleaning. After awhile of
bouncing between the beach and the shower of the apartment, I soon lose
interest in cleaning, too. The law of
the Tel Aviv jungle starts to make sense.
I give up on keeping the place sand-free and start wearing sandals
indoors. Cockroaches arrive to the
kitchen. It no longer bothers me. Nature wins this battle.
Nothing compares
to the quality of light of an apartment on the top floor. Green African parakeets chirp from their
perches at the top of the trees in the mornings. Jungle light filters through my window. Rays of sunshine quickly dry any clothes I
leave on the glass table. In the
evenings I lean out the windows to catch purple sunset light dancing on the
white buildings. In the yard below a cat
nurses her kittens. Fairytale light in
the jungle canopy feels magical.