Rather than something about myself I would like to highlight something special about my workshop, or more precisely about its location. After my aliya and many years of being a wandering Jew, I became a wandering woodworker. My first few years in Israel were spent going from one collective workshop to another. It became clear that if I was serious in my business, I had to open my own space. 

This was a scary leap of faith, especially with my broken Hebrew. I looked and searched and finally found a place. Not in a beautiful or artistic location like the previous ones I had been to. Quite the contrary, it was pretty scuzzy with metal dust, grease and oil from the surrounding shops. But there was more to it than what met the eye.  A different kind of beauty, one that restores hope in these troubled times. The mix of people you will find here. Kibbutz Galouiot as they say in Israel. So, please bear with me and, let me introduce you to them:

Ali, the carpenter from across the street, who although he is not Jewish has a mezuzah case on his door post as a welcome sign to his Jewish customers. Ali was one of the very first to greet me when I arrived.

Thaly, the mechanic, specialized in 4*4s. He is an Israeli sabra Jew, who is always willing to give a helping hand.

Hamudi (no not the Hebrew word for “my cutie” but the Arab nickname for Mohamed), who owns a hardware store from which a large Israeli flag waves every day. What I love when I go to Hamoudi’s store is to see the yeshiva burahs, from the nearby seminar shop there. And sometimes I even find them sitting behind the counter with their kippa, beard, and peyote having coffee and a chat with him and his employees.

In addition to the Arab Israelis, the secular sabras, the ultra-orthodox Jews, there is a large community of Ethiopian Jews and … me and my dog. This neighborhood is one of the most peaceful and quiet locations I have wandered to.

If only the world could see it.