A desperate and creative thief in the lower city ○ Haifa story • Yitzhak Toito

A Haifa story by the author Yitzhak Toito - His books "Collecting gifts from the floor" and "Whip-whipping", won many praises and the sympathy of the audience.

Anglo Bank - Palestine

I was with my back to the central branch of the "Defenders" Bank Leumi and my face towards Shibat Zion. The beginning of the street. I left home early to catch up on the road, for a short visit to my childhood alleys. Because as we have already mentioned, wandering in your adulthood in the streets of your childhood has a special flavor. Sometimes sour, sometimes pinching in the heart, but always special and smiling that leaves you with a burn or an impression that won't dissolve so quickly. And check it out.

I started to walk slowly up the long Shivt Zion which starts here on Sderot Maginim, at the end of the climb I wave goodbye to the right at the top of the release and then go down towards Wadi Salib and at the end it turns into Kibbutz Galvot. About.

Many families lived a relatively short distance from each other and yet did not really know each other. I didn't know the Sharvit family, Turgeman, Mazuz Fedida, and others, some of whom lived a few numbers ahead and not because of the length of the street, but because we didn't have water points. Probably. That is, we didn't go to the same school or visit the same synagogue, etc.

But, here Facebook fixes it and so, neighbors who were close but far have now become far, but closer than ever. The wonders of digital.

Come on, let's continue. To my right, a building that used to be the Anglo-Palestine Bank. Yes, there was such a thing. See the photo: Lira AI 1. To my left, in front of the prehistoric bank, a special building with a triangular corner. And it has a story for this building. Maybe another time. Further on, the bus stop from which you could go to Hadar and now does not exist, because there is no traffic in that direction. The street became one-sided. To my left, the building where the Atias family lived and on the floor below a family from Romania and their son Simcha, who was a little older than me.

Desperate thief

At entrance number 16, our apartment, on the third and last floor. An iron door set at the entrance was supposed to guard the entrance from unwanted guests. Except that it always remained open and had no lock. It was not necessary either. What thief would break into a key fee apartment in an old stone house in Stanton City. And if he does enter, what will he find?

But let's flow. Let's say the burglar is a desperate thief who decided to break into one of the apartments. Suppose. After rummaging through every drawer and probably finding nothing, maybe he'll use his creative mind and try the Hamakor 10 freezer. 'Great hiding place' the creative desperado will think. But there another disappointment befell him. There he will find at most a plastic box with an ice cream symbol on it. And even if he wants before he leaves to take a lick of ice cream for the road, maybe something sweet to comfort his tormented soul, he won't be happy here either, because in most houses in this particular neighborhood, the mentioned plastic box was used as a storage container for the beloved meatballs. The ones with mom's fingerprints. So, let go my brother, look for another neighborhood.

67 stairs

The old iron door at the entrance to Shiva Zion 16, was upgraded to something modern and designed. I went in and started climbing up the stairs. If I remember correctly - 67 steps. Many stairs to three floors? Yes, yes, because the rooms in the old stone houses rose to an enormous height. How huge? Do not know. Huge. When my father bought the apartment, he disrupted the whole balance in the building because all the apartments were inhabited by families of Romanian origin. It turned out well, I learned Romanian. And since I'm an excellent student, I've picked up two words throughout the years - Guy Schluffen. Two words that were thrown at me nervously when I was playing with the ball and kicking against the wall of the building between two and four o'clock. And in short, I learned - 'Go to sleep'.

A talking box

A nice family lived on the first floor. They were the first to have a relatively large box that transmitted images, videos and even sound. A true and intriguing wonder. They called it - television. They had a large window that opened into the stairwell and in the early evening they turned on the device, opened the window and allowed all the children of the building to crowd into the window frame from the outside and look at the miraculous box. We saw cartoons, although Popeye was the favorite, and sometimes some black and white film taken from Lebanon. We didn't understand much, but just staring at the screen was a kind of attraction. And we always understood Popeye.

What is to be understood, he ate spinach and conquered the whole world and on the way knocked out the lottery, and we cheered him with real joy through the window, and in the stairwell there was joy and happiness.

The next building - number 18

Now, I slowly climbed the stairs breathing in every inch of peeling plaster and forgotten sights and events. On the third floor there is a long outdoor balcony connected to the next building, number 18, where the Atias family and their children Yvonne, Sylvia and Victor live. The mothers spoke to each other from time to time, the one from the balcony and her friend through the window of the apartment and words in French and Hebrew were used there mixed up. On the side of the entrance to our apartment, old and crumbling wooden stairs went up to the flat roof of the building. I went up cautiously.

What is the view from the roof?

The port stretches almost as far as the eye can see, and it feels as if you have control over the entire downtown. Beautiful? Depends on your eye. As a child, the sight was of countless stone houses with flat roofs. They all have solar heaters and TV antennas that have grown like mushrooms after the rain. Over time we realized that the higher the antenna the better, so that Jordan and Lebanon could be received. Israeli television was not born yet. As of today, the appearance is a jumble of towers reaching for the sky in the direction of the court complex with old stone houses, and also a church here and a mosque there that stands in the shadow of the missile building.

Beautiful? - No.
stylish? - No.
Messy, and without any unique character? - Yes.

Kadosh station

I got off and left the building. I turned right further up the street. To my right, Kadosh's seamstress, the tarpaulin tailor who there was not one in Haifa who did not know him. The thing is that getting to know him wasn't necessarily because you bought a tarp from him, but because if you had the chance to ride a bus that passed through the street, you probably stopped occasionally at the Kadosh station. What is a holy station? Well, this requires a brief reference.

All of Haifa and the surrounding area knew the Iraqi saint. Any tarpaulin you want will be sewn for you. 'I am seventh generation in Israel', he would say proudly. Can be. The fact that he had an accent as if he immigrated to Israel from Baghdad only an hour ago means nothing. There isn't a truck driver that a saint wouldn't sew a truck tarpaulin for, and every local knows that. Why? Because Kadosh's tailor shop is right on the main road. Shibat Zion 18. And as we know, this is the main road that connects Hadar to the lower city and when there is a large tarp to sew for a truck, Kadosh spreads it in the middle of the main road. Marks, cuts, folds. And... all traffic stops. Then the horn wails begin. Nervous passengers shout from inside the bus and Kedush, with a smile spread between his two large ears, signals to the driver:  'Wait, my love, wait, I'm about to finish, patience. You mustn't be in a hurry that hasn't been planted properly, a tarpaulin for a truck should be accurate'. And the passengers inside the bus resent the driver who stops for no reason, because in their opinion there is no reason. There is no station here. 'moment', says the driver to his nervous passengers. 'Holy is about to finish'. Kadosh station.

Preparation for a stay on a desert island

Further on, on the right is the beginning of the Prophets' Stairs going up to Hadar and on the left the descent on Kativ Street leading to Paris Square. Further up, on the left side right on the road and without a sidewalk, we fall into the shop of the Tsarpakai tailor, who sewed my suit for the Bar Mitzvah. Why fall? Because there are two stairs at the entrance that take you down a little below street level, and because the store is right on the road and if a bus passes by, you have to stick to the wall if you don't want the car coming down the ramp to take you with it. without card On the right side, at the end, in the corner just before the bend to the right up, the release stared after the honor of David the barber, no matter how I told him that I wanted him to tell me, he always nodded in understanding and then, mowed me down as if he was preparing me for a year's stay on a desert island. In the end, when I realized that communication with him would lead nowhere, I moved to Momi Bahadar. And there, at Momi's, it's another world. And Mummy is worth more than a few more lines. another time.

Wadi Salib

From here, Shibat Zion begins its descent into Wacha Wadi Salib. Wadi Salib of the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s, the relatively small neighborhood in terms of area, but which at its peak housed twenty thousand residents is worth a story in itself. Oh, what a story. In fact, a large part of the plot in the book "Collect gifts from the floor" takes place against the background of this exact area.