
FACES OF TEL AVIV
FACES OF TEL AVIV
LATEST STORIES

"I don’t dye my hair. But let me tell you a secret—I eat 2 kilos of vegetables every day. Lettuce, cabbage, radish, celery, tomato, cucumber… the list goes on. And even more than that, I drink six cups of fresh ginger tea—three in the morning, three at night. But only fresh ginger, always fresh. I add lemon, pour in boiling water, mix, and drink. And I do this every single day—kol yom, tous les jours. Let me reveal another secret to you. How old am I? 70, right? When I was 20, I met a French girl in Tiberias while I was a soldier in the army, a tankist. She was beautiful. We spent the whole summer together in Israel—three and a half months. But when her summer vacation ended, she had to return to France. She was studying to become a doctor. Not long after she left, I got a phone call from her. “Come! Come!” That’s all I needed to hear. That same night, I flew to Toulouse. I ended up living in France for a year. I even proposed. But two days before the wedding, I left. I realized I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t live in France. It wasn’t Israel. It was hard for me. I made a huge balagan, a huge, huge balagan. And that was that. When I came back, I reconnected with my wife—the woman I had known since I was 12. We met on Kibbutz Beit Zera. I wrote her a letter, left her a message, and eventually, she called me back. We got married when I was 21, and we’ve been together ever since. And I’m okay. But the girl from Toulouse… she never left my mind. And at the same time, I love my wife. What can I say? The girl from Toulouse was amazing, but I just couldn’t do it. She wasn’t Jewish; she was Catholic. I didn’t care about that. But I knew I couldn’t live in France. Israel is my home. It will always be my home. Still, she’s always there, in the back of my mind. It’s hard. But I really love my wife. Every morning, I give her a massage. Every morning. We’ve been married for 50 years now. And let me tell you something—you should expect no less from your husband. When you truly love someone, the greatest joy in life is growing old together. And I love to work. I’ll work until the very end. Even if I make 20 million shekels, I’ll still work. And with that money, I’ll give chessed. That’s life."

“Taste it, it doesn’t matter what it is; all I know is that it is very good. I don’t have a shop; I just travel around Israel, sharing what I make wherever I go. Today, you’ll find me here at Tel Aviv University’s campus, but next week—who knows? It’s not just food; it’s an experience.”

“Excuza me, signora! Where did you get this? — Get what? — Your beauty, bella! Ya’allah! I hope you enjoy your time here in Israel, succeed in your studies, and find happiness—happiness in your whole body, even in your fingernails. You understand me? L’chaim!”

“Seven weeks in a coma. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember everything. But I knew one thing—I'm not done. People ask me how I’m doing, and I tell them, ‘Soon, I’ll be fighting for Israel in the north.’ It’s funny, you know? They expect me to say something different, something about resting, about taking it easy. But that’s not who I am. I’m ready to go back. I was in the army on October 7th, trying to save someone else’s life, when I was shot in the head. I didn’t think about myself at that moment. I was just focused on helping. It’s who I am. And now, I’m focused on getting better. I play the piano because it helps me recover, to keep my mind sharp. Am Israel Chai—it means something, you know? It’s life. It’s everything I’m fighting for. I know I have a long road ahead, but I’m not afraid. I’ll be back. Stronger. Soon, you’ll see me back on the frontlines.”

"Darling, I look dreadful today, just dreadful—I can’t believe I’m even letting you take a picture. But alright, fine, just one. How often does this sort of thing happen, really? Now, look at this skirt. 200 pounds, yes, but it’s not just a skirt—it’s the skirt. I found it in London years ago, and let me tell you, it was love at first sight. The fabric, the way it moves—pure magic. You see this kind of thing, and you don’t hesitate, darling, you just know. Impossible not to fall in love. Trust me, it’s the sort of piece that makes you feel like the best version of yourself. And you’ll thank me for it later, I promise you that."

“My dog was my best friend. Big, strong, always by my side. When he passed, I couldn’t just forget him, you know? So I made this bracelet, it was his collar. I made it with my own hands. I couldn’t let it go. Every day, I wear it, and I think of him. Every time I see it, I remember his loyalty, his love. That’s the thing—it’s not just a bracelet, it’s a piece of him. I carry him with me everywhere. Sometimes, I’ll catch myself looking at it, just for a second, and I can see him, feel him. People ask me, 'Why do you wear that?' And I tell them—it’s not just a bracelet. It’s memories. It’s love. You don’t forget those who give you love like that. Every piece of work I do, I put a little bit of that in there. This shop, the music, the silver—it’s all part of me, part of who I am. And I carry that with me, like I carry him.”

“My biggest struggle right now? I’ts waiting for my son to come back from the army. Every single day, I feel it—the ache of not knowing if he’s safe, if he’s okay. One year left... It feels like an eternity. He’s out there, and I’m here, just hoping. As a mother, it’s the hardest thing in the world—to send your child to a place where danger is never far. But even though it tears me apart, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because this is Israel, and no matter how much it hurts, it’s where I belong. It’s where my soul is tied to the land, to the people, to everything we fight for. So I wait. I wait for my son to come home, to feel him back in my arms, because even through the pain, this place is my heart. And nothing, nothing will ever change that.”

"I’ve lived in Israel my whole life—it’s home, and I love it here. But when I wanted to marry the man I love, I couldn’t. We had to fly to Canada just to say, ‘I do.’ Then we spent a year in America, where we had three beautiful kids through a surrogate. I converted them myself because I wanted them to grow up rooted in the same traditions I did. And then, of course, we came back. Because despite everything, there’s nowhere like Israel. This country is complicated, but it’s also beautiful—it’s a place where I can raise my family with pride, where I can teach my kids to love who they are and where they come from, just like I do. This place isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. "

“Forty years in this city, and these two are the only ones who’ve truly stuck by me”