Two armed police officers are walking on the sidewalk in south Tel Aviv. They notice a figure approaching from a distance. As soon as they recognized the figure as Shlomo, they crossed the road to the other sidewalk. Shlomo does not like people coming in front of him on the same sidewalk, especially when they are representatives of the law. The gun stuck in his belt is unlicensed, which did not bother anyone present.
Shlomo is usually at least one head taller than all the police officers in the area. His enormous arms are capable of lifting a barrel of wine as if it were a newborn baby. It is said that a stubborn donkey who worked with his colleagues carrying materials for the construction of buildings suddenly became stubborn and did not want to move. Shlomo approached him and asked nicely. When he did not respond, he hit the donkey in the head, knocking it unconscious and remaining standing to this day.
It is true that the state is on the road and the law before the laws is to avoid troubles, problems and friction. The entire area around Kerem HaTyemanim was controlled by several authorities, one of which was Shlomo. Many stories were woven around his character and some of them discussed his fist, an iron fist and the narrator claimed that it was better to take a bullet from a gun than a nervous punch from Shlomo. From the name of the neighborhood, it can be concluded that Shlomo is not Hungarian and mutual respect always kept the silence.
A young officer at the station almost made the mistake of his life and dared to stay on the sidewalk when Shlomo arrived from the opposite direction. The encounter was inevitable and those present wondered how the encounter would end. Shlomo stopped and the officer whispered something to Shlomo in a trembling voice. Each party continued walking without any special incident. I can satisfy curiosity with what was said. "Shlomo! I have something important to discuss, come to me at the station tomorrow morning, at your own time." I entered the picture at a later stage and cannot say how I am familiar with the details, perhaps we can guess together later.
"Shlomo, my dear! Why do you have all these problems with the law? It's time for peace. We will help you open the 'Shlomo Gamliel' restaurant, as you call it. A Yemenite restaurant where you will prepare your favorite dishes and people will come from all over to taste and praise you." Thus the brave officer addressed the person sitting across from him.
In 1964 I came to work as an alto saxophone player in the band 'The Pale Tracker'. Most of the happy events were celebrated in a Yemenite restaurant next to the Yemenite vineyard called 'Shlomo Gamliel'. Avraham 'Pasnel' Deshe, the trackers, the musicians and other entertainment figures associated with the event gathered there and in addition to the amazing food, a tall, broad-shouldered man with excess fat sat at the cash register. When I was introduced to him, he shook my hand firmly and said:
"Shlomo, very nice Ilan."
That's how I met the man no one dared to look into his eyes and who, with an unlicensed gun, ran a restaurant bearing his name with a full license. Shlomo's hobby, besides sitting at the cash register without moving, was telling stories. He had a special ability to illustrate and make everyone around him laugh. If I had dreamed that one day, at my advanced age, I would sit down and write memoirs, I would immortalize his fascinating stories, most of which, unfortunately, I have forgotten.
Years after my last meal there, I returned to visit. It was hard to find any trace of the magnificent place of 'Shlomo Gamliel'. All the houses around were deserted and signs of abandonment were evident everywhere. I assume that Shlomo no longer carries a gun without a license, the police have become stronger and police officers do not cross the sidewalk across from them when someone appears in front of them, even if it is Shlomo. There were times….