Life in Tel Aviv is certainly not the same as in Jerusalem

When I first moved to Tel Aviv seven years ago, after over 30 years in Jerusalem, I reported back to curious friends in the Holy City: “They give out parking tickets on Shabbat here and what’s more, they empty the garbage bins on Shabbat.”

In each instance the surprised response was the same, “What, and do Jews do it?”   

 “Yes, it’s Jews who do it,” I answered.  Those were the first major differences I noticed. 

Over the years I’ve discovered other differences, major and minor.  Some came as a shock. Take, for instance, those mundane items, pins and needles.  I always thought they were made of stainless steel and could never rust.  Indeed, any other possibility never entered my mind.  Here in Tel Aviv, I go to my pin cushion and find they have rusted!  Also, in the Tel Aviv humidity, some rubber disintegrates.  I couldn’t understand why I was wobbling on my winter boots until I found that the rubber had fallen to pieces.  I’ve had to chuck out at least two pairs of footwear. Another result of the dampness is that laundry takes ages to dry on the line outside.  I was used to hanging it out wet and, especially in summer, finding it totally dry a short time later.  Here, even hours later, it’s still damp and yucky, so I find myself doing much more ironing – a task I hate.

A funny phenomenon about Tel Aviv is that in contrast to the weather forecasts, it’s not just one climate, but many microclimates.  When it’s really cold and a fierce wind is blowing along Hayarkon street, one walks a couple of hundred meters to Ben Yehuda and finds there’s a pleasant breeze.  Another couple of hundred meters to Dizengoff, and it’s as though there’s no air at all.  And further inland it’s even hotter. 

Even in Jerusalem shopping habits have improved since the days of limited shopping hours, which longtime immigrants like me look back on with no nostalgia whatsoever.  But here in Tel Aviv, shopping is on another level altogether, thanks to the many groceries open at night and on weekends.  The A.M. – P.M. shops (and I giggle every time I hear Hebrew speakers talking of the “am-pam”) and others provide a real service.  Yet, on the eve of memorial days when places of entertainment are all closed, they close too.  Since when are grocery stores places of entertainment?  I find it very weird.

What I hate most in Tel Aviv are the bats in the trees of the avenues.  And however much I’m told that they are terrific for the environment, they still give me the willies.  When I take my dog out in the evenings I keep my head down so as not to see them. 

Among the things I love most in Tel Aviv are the trees in Chen Boulevard. The whirls and whorls in the trunks remind me of Grimm's fairy tales, while the trompe l’oeil street paintings, such as at the corner of Ibn Gvirol and Jabotinsky streets, are just great.  Another terrific benefit is the ESRA Book n’ Chat Club through which I've met an interesting group of women and I am now better read than I’ve ever been before! 

Some people claim that Tel Aviv, the non-stop city, is hardly a Jewish city at all.  It’s certainly not like Jerusalem, but I live near the beach in an area that one would describe as definitely secular.  Yet on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, the area of Ben Yehuda is like a ghost town, with nearly all shops closed and little movement in the street. 

One year I came home particularly late from a Pessah seder but still had to take my dog out to do her business. I thought, “Who on earth takes their dog out at half-past-two in the morning?”  I couldn’t believe how many others were on the same mission. All those people who had fulfilled their religious and family duties, and were now doing their duty by their dog. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Very Tel Aviv!