Rosh Hashana

Almost everyone who got to experience Tel Aviv’s atmosphere in its early years was indulging in fish dishes. Along the many neighborhoods was a huge market; to its one side were the Mediterranean and various cafes, with their tiny coffee cups and bustling music, and in front of it was a large selection of shops. While joining my mother on her many grocery shopping adventures, I absorbed the spirit of market along with its atmosphere of abundance, the essence of freshness beaming from every booth, and the sounds of Hebrew and Arabic coming from the vendors. 

I enjoyed watching the fishermen empty out their fresh daily catches into large baskets on the sidewalk. I loved the “Horse” drink, made of tamarind, which a dark-skinned fellow poured from an enormous kettle he carried around. Of course, I couldn’t resist a honey-dripping, nut-filled baklava triangle, straight from a trey carried on another fellow’s head. 

In the street that led to the market was my grandfather’s, Shlomo Talbi’s shop, Tel Aviv’s first wine store, which he opened upon his return to Neve Tzedek. It was a common hangout for friends to buy and drink wine, take advice, unload the burdens of the heart, and secretly receive – that was my tall and wise grandfather’s special path.

My father, Yaakov Talbi, was a Jewish detective in the British Police in the 1920’s and one of the first detectives in the Israeli Police upon its establishment. To his credit were 45 years of service as a detective in the Arab sector of the Jaffa area, a fact that earned him many Muslim and Christian friends. The nature of his job required him to work during the nights and return early in the mornings, when he would encounter the fishermen upon their return from the sea, along with their tempting fresh goods. Time and time again he would get caught in their net, give in to the newspaper-wrapped temptation and bring it to my mother’s kitchen. Till this day our family memories are interlaced with our wonderful Shabbat and Holiday meals and their traditional fish dishes; cooked in warm egg-lemon, or fried and served with spicy sauces, in which we dipped freshly baked challah and homemade “bolkalach” dinner rolls. Dad would make Kiddush over the sweet red wine as we would sing the Zemirot. 

“Tzur Mishelo Achalnu, Bar'chu Emunai” – The Lord, Our Rock, whose food we have eaten, let us bless Him

Sava'anu vehotarnu kidvar Adonai” – We are satiated and there is still food left over, as God has instructed