We arrived in Tel Aviv from Rome exactly one month ago today, on an all too easy 3.5 hour flight down the Mediterranean. In hindsight, the straightforward nature of the travel logistics did not align in any way with the otherwise almost complete life overhaul between these two relatively close cities and countries (if not necessarily cultures).
All that to say, waking up in our apartment in Rome, with newborn and toddler one day, and falling asleep in a new home in Tel Aviv the same evening made for some serious sensory whiplash.
Alas, all is going well – or somehow better than I had honestly anticipated given those circumstances. Aleksander has started French school and mostly integrated without a hitch (on espère); Elia continues to grow, sleep, nurse, and has even begun to smile and coo; Dalia is making the most of her second go-round of maternity leave, walking the boys on the boulevards with iced coffee in hand and making activity dates with school moms; and I’ve begun my new job (same job, different place) and have found lunch, coffee and grocery spots as needed. The basics seem to be mostly covered.
Tel Aviv is a bit hard to describe. In parts, completely dilapidated, hipsterly-so, and in others, modern skyscrapers and construction cranes, à la Dubai. Kensington Market one moment and Bay Street the next. Plus, add a beach.
I’ve never had the pleasure of living in a proper beach town and I used to joke that I never trusted people who did because ending your day in flip flops and a sandy wavey sunset just doesn’t feel real enough real life.
In any case, the beach is about a 25 min walk from our home and we may have already caught a few sublime sunsets while buskers sing radiohead tunes, people do agressive calisthenics or play beach volleyball (strangely enough, just as often with their feet), and Aleksander climbs world class play structures while getting covered in dust-fine sand. Like I said, not really real life stuff; pretend temporary life indulgences.
Otherwise, the city is not very readily classifiable. Tel Avivians like to compare it to Miami but I’d say they’re overshooting on that one. There’s definitely more American street culture here than any other subset: burgers, beaches, lattes, longboards, athletic wear, etc. But, of course, this is not the U.S. I can’t say that we feel it’s particularly European either, somehow too casual for that, and certainly on an entirely different wavelength than Rome: smaller, younger, beachier. So, Tel Aviv is Tel Aviv, maybe at best it’s the Mediterranean lovechild of Montreal and Barcelona, that was then immediately estranged from its parents.
Tel Avivians appear to be the type of people drawn to such a place: keen to live in a (mostly) Jewish beach paradise.
There are lots of 20 somethings (and older wannabes), patios and tattoo shops. There are also loads of families (or maybe that’s mostly who we notice in the AI inspired playgrounds). And then others: Orthodox Jews zipping by on e-bikes; Russian grocery store clerks; Eritrean line cooks; Filipino nannies; almost middle-aged tech looking bros; aspiring cross-fit champions on every square metre of the kilometres-long beach boardwalk; 19 year old Israelis in their military training camo, at the coffee shop, automatic weapon in one hand, current love interest in the other; grannies on quiet park benches.
Regardless of all that, we’re pretty occupied just doing us, surviving, settling, adapting, starting to look ahead from a novel perspective. Life with two kids under three is full. So far we’re thankfully approaching it with some serenity: soaking in as much of Elia’s newborn vibes as we can, smelling his little baby head and kissing his squishy cheeks a million times a day.
School dropoffs aren’t proving to be as romantic and laid back as in Rome. The price of absolutely everything is so astonishingly high as to almost be physically painful. And, of course, we’ve gone from two plus years of actively integrating into Roman life – the language, gestures, food, rhythms, piazzas, countryside, olive oil and gelato and mozzarella. To doing a full cultural reboot in less time than it takes to watch The Godfather trilogy. Hummus, Hebrew, Rosh Hashanah. And that’s all without effectively leaving this city. The beach bubble of Tel Aviv. The beach bubble within an Iron Dome.
We still don’t entirely know what to expect here over the next three years but so far it’s comfortable living and often feels like a city built primarily with children in mind, so in that sense, we’re off to a positive start. And we look forward to see what this place and its people have in store for us.
– Yom Kippur, 2023
Dad In The World 