I’m sitting in a City Café at the intersection of Hertzl and Florentin, a vibrant South Tel Aviv neighborhood even on a quiet Shabbat evening.
I just ordered Nestle Café with Nutella and Shukshukha, Balkan Beatbox is playing on the radio, and there’s a smelly dog under the table on my right. The sun is setting and I think I’ll go for a swim at dusk to loosen up before the performance at Suzanne Dellal. My bike was stolen, again. This time they lifted the pole out of the cement instead of lifting the bike. I’ll walk to the sea and show. It couldn’t be more stereotypical or surreal.
Around me is conflict. Deportations, protests, self-imolations, bomb siren drills, friends on edge talking about deployment when Damascus falls. I’m in a hurricane but sitting in the eye of Florentin. It is interesting seeing life from the eye of the storm.
What do you see? Where do you think I live? There’s a lot buzzing in my brain and I’d like to keep thoughts flowing.
Conversation over conflict.
Dialogue over disagreements.