Birds From A Feather

Words from Ibn Gabirol Street

July 18, 2024 

An introspective narrative piece, connecting Ibn Gabirol to Tel Aviv.

[the bold lines are quotes from Ibn Gabirol’s poetry taken from 

the book Vulture in a Cage]

My friend, from what I’ve seen of life, 

I’d say the best that you can hope for

Is to go mad.

. . . 

For Pesach I came to Israel. 

I stayed a few months. 

Celebrated and enjoyed our holiday of liberation with my family,

Both in the mountains of Jerusalem.

And in our new home; on the farm by the sea.

The birds 

And nature

The farm is magnificent. 

A villa in the jungle, as they say.

I lived on Ibn Gabirol Street for a few months,

In Tel Aviv.

Next to Kikar Rabin.

Where the Prime Minister was assassinated.

While living on Ibn Gabirol’s street

I studied at Tel Aviv University 

The history of the Arab Spring

In context of October 7th

I learned a lot.

Choose peace, not war; let go

It’s under construction now, they’re building tunnels.

Not those kinds of tunnels, not terror tunnels.

They’re building tunnels to help you get from

Point A to point B, and beyond.

An underground railroad.

Because we have where to go, places to get to. 

And a long way to get there.

I didn’t really know Ibn Gabirol.

I had visited the street when I was first getting to know Tel Aviv.

Visiting Elie, Sara, Eitan, and Jonah.

When they were first moving to Israel, that’s where they lived, temporarily.

I’ve learnt a lot from the street signs in Israel.

They are deeply infused with meaning, 

Representing historical or biblical figures

And written in three languages,

Hebrew, Arabic, English.

Helps me practice reading Arabic, and learn history.

I didn’t really know Ibn Gabirol.

So I looked him up. 

Ibn Gabirol

A medieval Spanish, Jewish, Philosopher, Poet,

He wrote in Arabic, and influenced Christinaity.

He was persecuted. He was isolated. He was bitter.

 He was kind of funny, in a grumpy way.

He liked to wear a lot of hats.

I’ve wondered if Ibn Gabirol played chess in Medieval Spain.

I played a lot of chess on Ibn Gabirol Street this summer. 

They say that the Jewish people spread a new rule of chess,

 as they were fleeing the inquisition.

The new rule made the Queen a more versatile figure in the game.

Apparently because the Spanish Queen got more powerful at that historic time.

They say a lot of things,

Don't they?

Ibn Gabirol was not accepted by the Jewish community.

They said his work was too Greek.

Too influenced by other cultures. 

He was isolated from the Jewish community in Medieval Spain. 

They liked his poetry though. 

After a few generations, his poetry even became Jewish prayer. 

His poetry are the words we use to pray. 

Yet he was isolated from the community. 

We're funny like that, don’t you think?

You are a stranger till your bones rot 

In the ground.

Why was this central artery of Tel Aviv

Named after 

Such a bitter, isolated, strange mystic of Medieval Spain?

My first question, when I started to 

Get to know 

Ibn Gabirol.

It took me some time to realize. 

Be patient with me, it 

Takes time.

The enemy in the quest for wisdom is Time

But I think it’s because,

He is different. 

He was innovative, across many cultures, including his own.

Yet he was rejected.

Religiously persecuted. 

From the Jewish community, 

from the Muslim community, 

from the Christian community

He was alone.

He was strange. 

And he was well aware of that fact as well. 

Tel Aviv is a highly socially vibrant city. 

You don’t need a microscope to see that.

Just open your eyes, it’s quite clear.

Ibn Gabirol was very much not a socially oriented person. 

He was a mystical loner, simply put. 

And he was well aware of that fact.

So why give him a street of Tel Aviv, and not Tzfat?

It might not be as obvious. 

That Tel Aviv is 

Quite introspectively curiously creative

And asking about

 the continuous transformative nature 

Of growing.

 It doesn’t 

Know exactly what it is yet. 

But I think they’re figuring it out. 

It takes time.

Be patient.  

Faithless world, you’re always wandering,

Roaming restlessly 

But why?

I despise your

So called beauty 

After living in New York for a year, 

And Colorado the year before that,

I have quite enjoyed 

My alone time. 

My creative solitude. 

It helped me ground. 

Get a sense of who I am, 

Perspective from on top of a mountain. 

In a rainforest

And then a city building. 

I didn’t really get to know many people. 

But I wasn’t going to the mountains to get to know people.

Learn to know your soul, and know it well

For it alone survives the flesh and skin

I went to be with the trees, 

Truthfully. 

I hear they help us breathe.

The longer the branches, the longer the roots

Now 

I am looking forward 

To the socially vibrant city 

That Tel Aviv is 

And connecting with the 

Community

It’s a good time to be with true friends.

I’m going to be taking 

My solitude,

My refuge of strangeness

With me when I move 

To Ibn Gabirol’s city. 

This tricky balance

Seeing the excitement and potential 

Of social vibrancy 

Communal connection 

Yet also knowing deeply

My need for time alone

To be creative, to concentrate

I have felt concerned how to balance this

Why so anxious, soul of mine? Why so afraid?

Settle down and settle in,

Wherever it is you dwell

I really wanted to get to know Ibn Gabirol.

Who is this man?

Why is he here?

You know the feeling of being utterly pissed off at the world?

I hope you don’t 

But if by chance you do 

Read Ibn Gabirol’s poetry

He really gets it

One gives you venom to drink;

One pats your head 

And then cracks it.

Quite well.

And maybe that’s why they named the street 

After him

The early zionists

Were likely quite pissed off

Hard not to be right?

They were fighting at the end of the world 

Just to exist.

These days, I understand.

I think Israel is the most misunderstood place ever.

And I think Tel Aviv, even more so. 

Ibn Gabirol would feel at home here.

Anyways,

There was nowhere else for him to go. 

Nowhere to flee, no refuge for my soul,

No place where I might find some rest.

…

Just see his soul, a vulture in a trap,

And I will be Your slave forevermore,

And never ask to have my bondage end.

At least when he was trapped,

He could say there was somewhere to be.

I wanted to take Ibn Gabirol’s vulture 

Out of his cage.

Set him free by the sea

To fly with the other birds

Make some friends

There are lovely birds in Tel Aviv,

I painted the trapped vulture two friends to fly with. 

One Hoopoe;

The national bird of Israel, 

A vibrant yellow bird

With a fancy hairdo and a long beak

Very Israeli.

And one Myna;

An invasive species to Israel.

A black bird, with a little yellow.

I think they’re like Oleh Chadashim.

Right of the boat, as they say. 

He did have a few friends 

Close ones

That he trusted

That supported him.

It’s very important to have truly good friends.

And to know who your true enemies are.

To friends I can be milk and honey, 

Venom to anyone who crosses me.

 I can appreciate 

A tasteful 

ecstatic transcendence 

Of shared experience, of mutual connection. 

Being alone is great, no doubt.

A relationship built on trust of shared experience?

Better than solitude.

When you escape and mix with humans,

Only then you will feel human!

I even saw his vulture. 

Flying Free in the Negev.

In Sde Boker.

Where Ben Gurion rests.

 I went to visit the 

Beautiful 

Transcendent

Brutal 

Negev

with my family 

Last weekend of my trip. 

I truthfully caught a bad cold from the harsh Negev climate

And was quite bitter about that 

But it was beautiful memory all the same

Abba and I were up at sunrise

So we went to say good morning to Ben Gurion 

moments like these

are absolutely life giving.

And there he was, the vulture. 

Out of his cage and magnificent. 

Where I live, I will carry on seeking,

As my ancestor Solomon bade me.

He wanted to see the desert bloom

I do too. 

Now, the negev is crying.

As is the north.  

Tears lurk in my eyes, 

like troops in ambush,

Waiting for my heart to surge

Writing has certainly helped.

The past year, feeling connected. 

And the past life, through the creative process.

In Arabic, the world battalion once meant a group of writers, 

not a group of fighters.