"The European idiots who built Tel Aviv didn't know much about the character of the Mediterranean Sea.  They put the city's back to the sea; streets run parallel to it, and block the breeze.  That's why the air is stagnant here."
-The Bubble (personal translation)

I'll Never be an Artist

By Jeffrey Jablansky
New York University

Last spring, I was an art major — for three hours. A scheduling conflict in the online database suddenly turned my forthcoming semester, which was supposed to be grounded in courses in anthropology and foreign languages, into a peculiar amalgamation of Jewish art history lectures and black-and-white photography lab sessions.  Startled, to say the least, I managed to resolve the issue by checking and rechecking the course identification numbers; by day's end, my life had returned to that of a typical liberal arts major and everything was simple again.

Before the moment that almost launched me headfirst into the world of art appreciation, I had never imagined myself connecting with my "inner artist" on any intellectual level.  I don't loathe the world, throw paint on the walls, or scoff at the work of the novice showcased at the local gallery who, truly, should have stuck with a career in telemarketing.  Who needs to be taught photography?  And who needs lectures in Jewish art — the same synagogues and menorahs that have not changed in two thousand years?

Now relaxed, I sat back down at the same computer screen that had almost decided a fate unimaginable. I stared for a minute at my desktop image, a picture I had taken while in Israel.  Two children are playing a game like tag, involving a pink blow-up ball, on the beach in Tel Aviv.  The boy, several years the girl's junior, is chasing her, hoping to deflect the ball in his direction.  The girl is kicking sand up into the air as she wearily avoids the next move of her friend, advancing closer to the boardwalk.  The scene is taking place opposite the famous Abulafia's bakery, known for selling hot pita and sheep's-milk cheese that, when combined with the salty aroma of the sea, forms a bite so satisfying that each requires a subsequent one.  The day that I snapped the photo, the usual, bright blue of the sky had faded to a shade of grey-blue, yet the orange of the boy's kippah and the pink hues of the plastic ball stood out to make the photograph visually appea—

Wait, what? Was I identifying the artistic elements of a photograph?  As much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, there was something beautiful about the setting that begged some kind of interpretation, and it had something to do with Israel.  Suddenly, after a year of living in it and appreciating it as a political entity and as a homeland, Israel had become appealing as a work of art.  I glanced over to my bookshelf as if to break with my unplanned artistic expression and on my shelf noticed two Israeli films on DVD, keepsakes from my year away; right next to them was a kippah that I had purchased on Ben Yehuda Street some years back, the image of the Pink Panther sewn into the center.  It was my Jewish art collection.

For hundreds of years, the world has known Jewish art in the form of stereotypical, instantly identifiable symbols usually located in Jewish homes or houses of worship.  From the most lavish synagogues of London to the hidden synagogues of Italy to the simple synagogues of the early settlers in the West Indies and the Colonies, the "synagogue" itself is defined by the collection of artwork within: a Torah, Ner Tamid, and perhaps some tribal shields or a Star of David.

With the advent of the state of Israel, however, Jewish art has taken on new forms through different kinds of media.  No longer is artistic expression limited to metal, wood, and clay — traditional "artists" have transposed their canvases and brushes for film, lenses, and hoes.  At the turn of the 1900s, pioneers were given the chance to turn a swampy, neglected Palestine into a Jewish homeland.  With every dig of the shovel, the pioneers chiseled a city that imbued Jewish values and tradition, without being traditional.

In the twenty-first century, the medium of personal expression is now the silver screen.  More Israeli movies than ever now have the opportunity to showcase the art that is Judaism and the beauty of Israel, and even offer artistic criticism.  Israeli filmmakers have used film to show the progress, triumphs, and detriments of Israeli society in a way that a regular piece of art cannot.

This article begins with a quote from an actor in the movie, The Bubble, a story of an Israeli soldier who falls for a Palestinian man at a checkpoint that he is guarding, and how a group of friends work and live together in Israel's metropolitan city.  The director's artistic technique paints the picture of three stories simultaneously: the Israeli/Arab divide, a story of friends living together, and the story of Tel Aviv itself — designed as the first Jewish city from the ground up, and one that requires each person who walks its boardwalks and boulevards to reflect on himself and on the artwork around him.

Maybe there is something inside of me that wants to be an art major, if for no other reason than to have the chance to sit back on the beach in Tel Aviv and watch the clouds go by.

When he's not vacillating between becoming a major in either art history or Middle East politics, Jeffrey Jablansky is a third-year student at New York University.

[Posted 9/29/08]