It’s really striking just seeing Tzfat– there’s nowhere else like it. It’s so old looking, city walls and stone arches, but then you see the bullet scars in a wall and you remember the whole city was evacuated just five years ago. Despite that, it’s peaceful. For all the talk about the divisions in Israel between the religious and secular, Tzfat is a welcoming place. It’s more traditional than say, Ramat Gan, but it’s not like anyone’s going to throw rocks at you—it’s laid back, deep without trying to be. I’d only been there once before, with my family when I was younger (We ate lunch at a Chasid’s house. I had to wear a kippah.). This time I was there as a backpacker, representing the assimilated Americans at the 2010 klezmer festival .
Getting to Tzfat was a trip in itself. Even at the airport security was asking me “Tzfat? Why Tzfat? A klezmer festival? How did you hear about the klezmer festival? Why a klezmer festival?” Made me wish I’d packed my shtreimel. At 21:00 Tuesday night Martín (“Mar-TEEN not Mar-tin”) and I were at the Akko bus terminal, frantically trying to figure out if the last bus had left. The only English spoken was first generation Russian immigrant English, and our Hebrew and Arabic being essentially nonexistent, we were worried. At 21:30 some young Orthodox girls sat down on the bench near us, looking more nervous than we did in their long dresses. “That’s a good sign though.” I said to Martín. “They must be going to Tzfat.”
At 22:00 the bus came. I’m from Boston, I ride the T pretty much every day of my life, but I’d never seen anything this crowded. I wondered if it would smell like sweat or cigarette smoke, or both. Weirdly, it smelled like neither. We paid the driver and went to the back of the bus. The crowd there was mostly secular teenagers, along with some hairy men who were pre-gaming the festival. The bus was incredibly cold, not quite see-your-breath cold, but definitely cold for a 115 pound American weakling. “It’s not that cold, man.” said Martín, gleefully eating a cheeseburger. “¿Sabes que? If you had a cheeseburger like me, you’d be nice and warm.” He laughed. Lucky gentile.
In Tzfat we were trying to find our hostel. “Shoshanah’s house?” the security guard said. “Didn’t she move? I think it’s closed.” At the address I’d written down there was a locked building. “Shoshanah?” the chainsmoking woman at the other hostel said. “You do not want Shoshanah. So dirty there…the beds have cockroaches inside. Here instead, I have better rooms. Hundred shekel. Hundred fifty for both of you.” Eventually I reached her phone. “Where are you?” Shoshanah said. “I don’t know!” I said. “There was a footbridge?”
“Palmach.” said Martín, holding his cell phone to the street sign for light. “We’re on Palmach.” “We’re on Palmach.” I said. “I meet you at the bridge.” she said. “5, 10 minutes”
Fifteen minutes later we met Shoshanah. “That building is full.” she said. “You stay in my house.” We walked down some crooked side streets, past two or three synagogues, finally into an apartment building. It was a typical three bedroom flat, except every room except the kitchen now had as many mattresses as could fit. The room we got had eight of them. “This can’t be on the books.” I thought. I looked at the bed. No sign of cockroaches (score!). It was comfortable. It had a good pillow. Someone was poking my head.
“Yo parce.” said Martín. “You going to sleep all night?” I had been up since 6:00. “You’re in a country you can do anything when you’re 18 and you’re going to sleep?” “What time is it?” “Midnight dude, come on!” “One second.” I put on my v neck, cuffed my skinny jeans. “Yo, should I wear the stupid hat?” I said. “YES, Max, wear the stupid hat!” I put on my straw fedora (actually paper). Martín handed me a bottle. “Let’s hear some of your hava nargilah music.” he said. “Word.”
