#purim2014

עמית כהן באולפן בסט חי לכבוד פורים

שודר ב16/3/14

mp3

חג שמח!

1. primal scream - loaded

2. מתי כספי - ליצן כיפורים

3. fat boys - are you ready for freddy(7" Version)

4. lee hazlewood - ugly brown

5. the travellers - mr. jhonny pok

6. robert mitchum - mama looka boo

7. johnny cash - to beat the devil

8. bruce springsteen - brilliant disguise

9. the who - disguises

10. penny lim & the silverstones - she's a lady

11. aerosmith - dream on

12. the strokes - new york city cops

13. טוני ריי - שמנמנה

14. קוקו - אגו טוקסרו

15. בני ברמן - מלך ליום

16. אריאל זילבר ולהקת ברוש - נפש נקלטת בגוף

PURIMSPIEL IN ANTWERP

a photoessay from Jerusalem of mainland Europe

That day I decided to rely upon signs from above. To begin with, I innocently ignored two super loud alarm clocks, which could easily smash the brain of a normal person. Nevertheless, by some unthinkable luck a phone call woke me up: sociologists from far-away Russia cut through time and space with the only aim to learn which TV channel I am watching right now. “I haven’t watched TV for the past four years, - the valiant scientists were dumbfounded, - and by the way, this call will cost you a pretty penny”. This call was considered a sign.

 Afterwards I missed two trains, one after another, in each case being absolutely sure I am on time. When eventually I found myself on my way to Antwerp, this ultramodern marvel of engineering, which NS HiSpeed international train is, managed to break down for three times in the course of the journey. “But this is obviously a portent,” – I thought peacefully.

 By the time I arrived in Antwerp, it was about four hours left till the end of Purim. So I put my camera on a war footing and started the chase for the evidences of celebration. Near the Antwerp Central Station my ear was sweetened by the sounds of Russian and Hebrew, flowing through the warm spring air. Townsfolk were busy in their diamond shops, not even wearing Mickey Mouse ears: those who spoke Hebrew were selling; those who spoke Russian were buying.

Dissatisfied with my findings, I set off to the Stadspark and pretended that the actual goal of my journey was taking pictures of the fattened ducks and swans. And there, sitting melancholically beside the water, I suddenly distinguished the sounds of a wild Chasidic melody, radiating from somewhere behind the bushes. Like a zombie, I ran in the direction of the sound to discover a mechonit Chabad on the opposite side of the park.

In the twinkling of an eye I was surrounded. A group of napoleons was exchanging the greetings with a group of musketeers at a crossroads.

Mother-Snow-white was dragging her fretful twins-batmen, simultaneously pulling a pram with an unbearably charming lady-bird sitting in it. Esthers and their brothers Mordechais were stodging ice cream on a bench.

Maskers pierced through all parallels and meridians of the quarter, taking no heed of an outsider – something they are so good at. From time to time I even caught myself at a feeling that they pass throw me. Well, they always do.

 At first I was rather afraid of taking pictures, keeping in mind spits and "shiksa"’s I was once a victim of in Jerusalem quarter of Zihron Moshe. It was actually the case when me and Sabine Janz were trying to film the people protesting against the cars on Shabbat. Haha.

On Lange Leem, in the cross streams of balloons, flowers and fruit baskets, a little old man emerged out of nowhere before me. Greasy kippah, Nikon with a telephoto lens. Glancing at the camera in my hands, he nodded conspiratorially. “Most importantly – don’t let them pull themselves together. Just shoot them, shoot them!” Having heard that I came from Moscow, he sighed with a slight disappointment and uttered in pure Russian: “Po-russki govorish?” Little old man’s name was Arik, and he managed to whip away from the Soviet Union in 1967 – rare luck.

He took me to the crossroad of Lange Leem and Conciencestraat, where the volunteers of Chai Life center pitched a tent with children’s makeup and treats. There I plunged into the feast. Yeshibotniks were showing off in front of my camera. Girls reeled and danced. Surprisingly for me, the most popular outfit was not the one of Esther, but of the Belgian flag! Flemish, Yiddish, Hebrew, French and Russian converged on this crossroad into lingua franca of laughter and singing.

 Accursed be Haman, blessed be Mordechai.

After a while the celebration started shifting into the houses. Children’s giggling dispersed in the doorways. Cooking aromas spread from the windows. Tinsels and knick-knackery were left for me on the pavements. The doors slammed and Sesame closed for the strangers’ eyes – till next Purim.

  P.S. Of course I understand, globalisation and everything...but why would you disguise your dearest kid in a French fries cornet?! 

Happy Belated Purim! 

And also any other fun celebration I've missed out - I'm just happy they all fall on the same day/night...