The human zoo and why Israelis need it
Tel Aviv was taken over by a 3,000-strong mob of English supporters of their national team for a match with Israel on Saturday. TV channels and newspapers didn't miss out on an opportunity to flash an image of a beer-merry geezer (the SAME geezer on all channels, papers, wire-services and Websites) to convince us this visit is nothing short of an Anglo-Saxon invasion to the first Hebraic city.
Succumbing to the media hype I ventured to see for myself what was the actual extent of the Brits' invasion. And I was in for a real surprise.
It began with finding any and every outlet selling beer on tap boasting at their front a Union Jack, an English flag or both. This move was probably made on the presumption that the true beer-heads from Albion would be more attracted to a pub demonstrating solidarity than to the nearest place that sells the booze.
Well, the presumption turned out to be very wrong.
The city streets were empty as on any other Saturday, but as my partner and I drew nearer the both famous and infamous Mike's Place, we understood just HOW wrong pub owners were.
The 50 meter by 15 meter perimeter of the city's usual foreigner / backpacker hangout was swarming with proud pink nosed beer gut owners who did no dishonor to their title. The hour was 11.30 A.M. and beer was piled in jugs on the wooden tables; inflatable beer advertisements bounced against the wind with their hot air; and more official-team-shirts-wearing patrons strode along the promenade, slowly making their way to the beer fountains.
But I am not writing here the lament of business owners that know no better. Alas, the surprise I wish to describe did not lie amongst emptying pints and beer-breathed London homies. It lay on the other side of the street.
Israelis from all walks of life had gathered on the promenade and watched the beer guzzling process, making it a point not to hide the observational nature of their activity.
I won't be radicalizing the scene too much if I'll say that it just fell short of serving as a human zoo. The occupants were offered a constant flow of mead, were surrounded by a fence and were dull-faced and mostly oblivious of the observational activity around them. The visitors were standing at a safe distance, protected by the moat that is Tel Aviv's Sunset-Boulevard-wannabe driveway, at times pointing at the objects of observation and bending down to their children for elaborate, studious explanations.
A proper disclosure is in order. I too left my house to bear witness to the miracle of English geezers ridiculing themselves ahead of the match. I too stood there for a few minutes to ingest the unusual sight. But, admittedly, I felt very uneasy about the whole thing.
Why is it that we, Israelis, feel so inclined to turn any deviation from the familiar into a spectacle, an attraction that makes cover page pictures and Friday night feature stories on TV? How can we be this comfortable with establishing an instantaneous relationship of zoo occupants and observers?
We crave an otherness that is not threatening. We crave momentary visitors we do not need to suspect, such that we can welcome and embrace, allow adding color to our everyday lives (which are, after all, gray worldwide), and then part amicably.
We had just that for a brief moment in the summer of 1967. We can have it again, with the same visitors / neighbors of yore. We can but we won't.
Tel Aviv was taken over by a 3,000-strong mob of English supporters of their national team for a match with Israel on Saturday. TV channels and newspapers didn't miss out on an opportunity to flash an image of a beer-merry geezer (the SAME geezer on all channels, papers, wire-services and Websites) to convince us this visit is nothing short of an Anglo-Saxon invasion to the first Hebraic city.
Succumbing to the media hype I ventured to see for myself what was the actual extent of the Brits' invasion. And I was in for a real surprise.
It began with finding any and every outlet selling beer on tap boasting at their front a Union Jack, an English flag or both. This move was probably made on the presumption that the true beer-heads from Albion would be more attracted to a pub demonstrating solidarity than to the nearest place that sells the booze.
Well, the presumption turned out to be very wrong.
The city streets were empty as on any other Saturday, but as my partner and I drew nearer the both famous and infamous Mike's Place, we understood just HOW wrong pub owners were.
The 50 meter by 15 meter perimeter of the city's usual foreigner / backpacker hangout was swarming with proud pink nosed beer gut owners who did no dishonor to their title. The hour was 11.30 A.M. and beer was piled in jugs on the wooden tables; inflatable beer advertisements bounced against the wind with their hot air; and more official-team-shirts-wearing patrons strode along the promenade, slowly making their way to the beer fountains.
But I am not writing here the lament of business owners that know no better. Alas, the surprise I wish to describe did not lie amongst emptying pints and beer-breathed London homies. It lay on the other side of the street.
Israelis from all walks of life had gathered on the promenade and watched the beer guzzling process, making it a point not to hide the observational nature of their activity.
I won't be radicalizing the scene too much if I'll say that it just fell short of serving as a human zoo. The occupants were offered a constant flow of mead, were surrounded by a fence and were dull-faced and mostly oblivious of the observational activity around them. The visitors were standing at a safe distance, protected by the moat that is Tel Aviv's Sunset-Boulevard-wannabe driveway, at times pointing at the objects of observation and bending down to their children for elaborate, studious explanations.
A proper disclosure is in order. I too left my house to bear witness to the miracle of English geezers ridiculing themselves ahead of the match. I too stood there for a few minutes to ingest the unusual sight. But, admittedly, I felt very uneasy about the whole thing.
Why is it that we, Israelis, feel so inclined to turn any deviation from the familiar into a spectacle, an attraction that makes cover page pictures and Friday night feature stories on TV? How can we be this comfortable with establishing an instantaneous relationship of zoo occupants and observers?
We crave an otherness that is not threatening. We crave momentary visitors we do not need to suspect, such that we can welcome and embrace, allow adding color to our everyday lives (which are, after all, gray worldwide), and then part amicably.
We had just that for a brief moment in the summer of 1967. We can have it again, with the same visitors / neighbors of yore. We can but we won't.
posted by Orr at 10:29 am
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