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Partying North Africa Style

Saturday, August 22nd, 2009 at 9:37 pm 
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Jewish Wedding in Morocco, 1841

Jews from Morocco built Sderot.  They came here in the early years of Israel’s statehood.  So it’s no surprise that Moroccan culture is part of living in Sderot.

The Karaoke Guy, for example, sings Mizrahi songs with the familiar high pitched nasal quality of North African tastes.

In this neighborhood, even when the Karaoke Guy isn’t singing, there is often music.  Drums, mostly.  The kind you play with your hands.

Actually that is just about the only kind of music I hear; drums and tamborines and the “Moroccan cheer.”

I call it the Moroccan cheer. Only women can do it.  They warble their tongue around while letting out a loud and prolonged yelp.  “li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li-li.”  They use it in celebration.

If you look out my window, you can often see where these little parties – little processions with drums, tamborines, and Moroccan cheers – go.  I have always figured they were celebrating weddings and such.

I found out I was almost right.  They celebrate the pre-wedding.  A friend told me that the little building outside my window is a mikva – a place for a ritual bath.

You’d think the bride would want to do this quietly.  And so far as I know, most Jewish brides do.  But I guess the Moroccans like a celebration whenever they can have one.

So they bring the bride to the mikva in loud processions with cheers, drums, and maybe dancing — to let everyone know the bride is going to take a bath.

Do they take pictures, too?

From Sderot on Obama’s Birthday

Wednesday, August 5th, 2009 at 9:57 am 
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Birthday Salute To President Obama

by Jerry Waxman


It was another quiet day in Sderot. Until the early evening hours. There must have been a wedding or something in the neighborhood.

The late afternoon was going along. Hot, humid air and an unforgiving sun opened the sweat glands while it tired the body. Sderot seemed and felt lazy, too fatigued to pay attention to the stench from the backed up sewers. To chase a cockroach just wasn’t worth the energy.

Some kids were outside at a little moadon (clubhouse) across the street. Their adult leaders seemed content to stay in the shade and let the kids harrass the neighboring dogs. But the kids didn’t harrass the dogs; that was just the dogs’ perception. They are quick to bark at anyone within 50 meters – and that’s just what they did when they saw the children.

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The Negev

In Sderot’s back yard, no horns a-blaring, no sewage backup, no rockets falling.

The dogs couldn’t sustain barking for more than a couple minutes. They soon returned to their normal occupation, sleeping, only to set an example for many of the people in the neighborhood; the old Russian ladies who nodded off in mid conversation; the old Moroccan man who sits downstairs everyday; a couple of workers taking an extended siesta in the park.

“Li-li-li-li-li-li-li-i-i-a-a-a,” the karaoke guy is still alive. Nobody stirs – his nasal refrains have become white noise by now.

Suddenly from nowhere, there’s a spontaneous parade. Not a caravan – more like a bunch of people walking as a bunch to some little building near the moadon. Their singing voices drowned out the karaoke guy and I think he just gave up – perhaps offended that this party had not invited him to perform.

Cars – maybe 3 or 4 of them – brought with them the sounds of a major highway. “Bla-ba-blaaa Bla-ba-blaaa Bla-ba-blaaa,” the auto musicians knew only one song. Their horns inspired the Moroccan women to warble that high pitched warble of theirs.

I didn’t look to find out what the commotion was all about. Soon I discovered what it was NOT about. As sudden as a sandstorm, it dawned on me; It’s Barack Obama’s birthday. And what kind of ex-pat would I be if I failed to wish him well.

Dear Mr. President;


Happy Birthday!


I envisioned you coming back to Sderot at a time like now, when missiles are not a daily occurrence. And you could stay for a cook-out, or at least I could invite you for a beer (*please see note below.). And we could discuss some things while the villagers sleep and the karaoke guy sings.

Yes, even here in Sderot, we’ve heard about the “Beer Summit” while the visit of President Arroyo got no press at all. Your “beer summit” came about after a misunderstanding. As you said, your words about the incident were not calibrated well, and that was because you didn’t have all the information.


Recently you called a different summit – a meeting of Jewish leaders. Was it to come to an understanding about Israel?



It must be gratifying, seeing Clinton being held hostage in N. Korea.
Just kidding … Congratulations on getting the journalists released.

Now, about Jonathan Pollard . . .

You see, Mr. President, your miscalibrated words about a single incidence in Cambridge might be fixed at the White House picnic table. But when you don’t have correct information about Israel, the Jewish homeland, a slight miscalculation on your part can mean great tragedies for many people.


Some people in Israel have attacked you on a personal level out of anger because of the policies you have supported. The people, who I think have overreacted, lack information, too – but they have as much right to be heard as those Jewish leaders who you have conferred with.


To be fair, Mr. President; to be better informed and as honest as possible, wouldn’t your interests be best served if you talked with people who actually live in Israel? You see, Mr. President, the Jewish leaders you have decided to talk to are a lot like those lobbyists trying to kill health care reform by misinforming the public.


The Jewish leaders you have called to talk with don’t have the same connection with Israel as those who live here. They definitely do not have the same connection as the hundreds of thousands of “settlers” they seek to displace.

Well, it’s your birthday and I hope it is a meaningful one for you and your family. The invitation to Sderot is always open. I hope you will take me up on the cookout summit here in the quietude of the Negev. It would give you a different perspective on the situation here. And a different side of the middle east issues would finally gain the attention of the press.

Happy Birthday, Mr. President.

Jerry

*About having a beer in Sderot. I was wondering if maybe we could split the costs on that. Or maybe change it to something more affordable. Do you like soda water?

The Karaoke Guy

Monday, August 3rd, 2009 at 12:31 pm 
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Quietude And The Karaoke Guy

by Jerry Waxman

It has been very quiet today. Not even the sound of people yelling at each other. Or cars without mufflers cruising the neighborhood. Only the karaoke guy.
Every night the neighborhood is serenaded by “the karaoke guy.” He practices his favorite Mizrahi tunes for hours on end. If you live more than 3 blocks from his apartment, you cannot hear the music, only his voice amplified to entertain a 12 block radius.

The songs with their high-pitched nasal incantations are familiar to everyone – well, everyone of North African descent. “Li-li-li-li-li-li-li-i-i-a-a-a,” is now ingrained on everybody’s tongue as the neighborhood anthem.

The karaoke guy does not exactly do the songs proud. Perhaps inside his own home, with the music playing, he has no idea he can’t carry a tune. But who in this 12 block radius would ever tell him, or ever suggest that he stop trying. Much as the karaoke guy’s singing is an assault on the ears, in Sderot we have all heard worse.

 The Singer

The Singer Art Print

Miro, Joan

Perhaps his day of fame will come, when he is asked to perform at a bar mitzva outside his own family. He may even have a video on YouTube. Meanwhile, the songs he sings through his nose – if they weren’t already old 25 years ago, for this neighborhood they are worn to death.

Yet, however little talent the karaoke man may display, his voice is a part of life in this corner of Sderot. It is an integral sign of life.