The Lull, part 2

A belated birthday bash: Gill finally gets a nice birthday dinner and concert in Caesarea, only one month late. We arrive in time for the sunset and stake out a table by the water. Pleasant service, good food, and a refreshing breeze make it even more enjoyable. We watch the young brides posing for pictures against the backdrop of the Roman ruins, and linger over our wine as the sun slips below the horizon. After dinner, we have the concert of the year to look forward to: the Shlomo Artzi/Shalom Hanoch tour that was cancelled during the war. This is a badly-needed chance to catch our breath, forget about ha matzav (The Situation) for a few hours, and remember some of the things that make our country so precious.

It has been several years since I have visited this area, and I'm pleased to see that it looks fabulous. As with most archeological sites in Israel, the digs are in a constant state of work, as teams led by eminent archeologists carefully excavate and study the ruins. Along the promenade, new restaurants have appeared, and the Crusader fortress on the harbor breakwater has been reopened. Waiters zip around between the tables, kids and dogs romp unsupervised, and the atmosphere is relaxed. It is exactly the balm that our tired souls need.

Aging rockers rule! Shlomo Artzi and Shalom Hanoch, two aging, old-school rockers, fill the Caesarea amphitheater with their usual eclectic group of fans. We wedge ourselves in with the hordes, sit for over three hours on backless stone tiers, and sing our hearts out along with an audience that spans most of our society, from secular to religious, teenagers to seniors, and yuppies to working class. It is a uniquely Israeli experience, made possible by our culture's limited grasp of "personal space." People casually use strangers' heads for balance as they pick their way through the crowded rows, and no one seems to mind, other than a few of us anglo saxim who can't quite shed our sense of etiquette.

As usual, Shlomo Artzi leaves the stage and walks among the audience, patiently accepting hugs and kisses from women and men alike while continuing to sing and ad lib. People stand with their arms around his shoulder and sing with him, bring him flowers, or just move over as he walks across the backs of their chairs. I cannot imagine a celebrity in the States having that much freedom. I also cannot imagine packing that many Americans into such a tight space and not having fist-fights (or worse) erupt. For all our noisy, rough-around-the-edges manners, there remains an innocence that is as sweet as it is inexplicable.

The massive speaker towers are so loud that I scramble to stuff toilet paper in my ears, prompting Gill to point out that at least we can stop worrying about any possible kidney stones, as the sheer force of the sound waves will have pulverized them by the end of the concert. Luckily, somewhere into the second hour, the guys settle down to some of their classic ballads and I can stop worrying about percussion damage to my internal organs.

It is well after midnight and the two of them are still going strong. We slip out, hoping to avoid the traffic jams in the parking lot. We are happily sated by the experience, yet we both know that reality is still out there, waiting for us with the next news bulletin, the next update, the next event in this uneasy cease-fire.

Find your beat and keep rocking...