Noah Ephron (6:01)
A different sort of authenticity there. Now, as for me, my name is Noah Ephron, and I do not mean to boast, but between the rumple of sleeping in the shelter and the fact that when you sleep in the shelter, you only sort of actually sleep in the shelter, and the fact that I stopped chilling for the omer, so the bags under my eyes are framed by stubble. Plus the fact that for overnights in the shelter, the cognoscenti wear sweatpants and sweatshirts, which all taken together have given me over the last while and very much so over the last week, I think a drifter, grifter sort of look. And I think that I have noticed while walking in the street or when I go to the store, mothers and fathers walking towards me, putting their arms on the shoulders of their young kids and pulling them in close as I walk by with a gesture that I think is universally known to me mean, maya, don't look at that man in the face. And please believe me when I say that I am not bragging. God knows my parents brought me up better than that. But I like to think that I have, with the years, learned to carry myself with a certain dignity, as befits someone who grew up, as I did, with every imaginable privilege. Today we've got two topics so deep and yet so wide that if these topics were a bomb shelter, they would be that bomb shelter I love. In the parking lot under the Wima Theater, where you can go six floors underground and you find their elaborate tent camps and people who have set up beds and box springs and grills and big TVs, big flat screen TVs, and that's how deep and wide these topics are. But first, we have this matter in memoriam. On Friday, the first day of Cholomoed Pesach, more than 500 people crowded into the reception pavilion at the Nachalat Yitzhak Cemetery to bury Asher Ruveni. It was a crowd so big that some spilled out of the big gazebo and stood carefully balanced among the graves. After the cemetery rabbi running the thing called family members up to the front of the pavilion to speak, one after another they stood in front of the microphone, staring into the phone they held in their hand, into which they had over the prior day, tap, tap, tapped the words. They said now. Asher Ruiveni's daughter Eleanor, the oldest of his five girls, they were Eleanor, Ronit, Shirley, Ortal and Daniel. Elinor said, You were always true to your principles, to your path which was yours alone. You were a people person. To our family events, a crazy mosaic of guests would come. The IDF chief of staff, the mayor, the head of the Histadrut labor union, football players, models, singers, artists, abba. How did you manage to touch all those people? You broke through every possible glass ceiling. The world of art and music would not exist like it does if not for your battle and your hard work. I do not know if it is true or not, but rumor is that Eleanor, when she was just five, was the inspiration for the name of one of Zohar Argove's first songs, produced and recorded by Asher Ruveni in the event at the now gone Tritone Studios that I love so much in Gikar Medina across from the old TLV1 studios. The name Eleanor, chosen after the woman Jackie MacKayton, wrote the song about a love song, ZFIA, that woman was called. She begged that her name be scrubbed from the song. She was, after all, marrying someone else. And the result was that when Zohar Argov recorded the song, his very first hit, it was now called Eleanor, according to the rumor, after Acheruveni's five year old old girl who was now 46 years later eulogizing her father, the song of which in its day, hundreds of thousands, maybe more than a million copies were sold. Nobody knows how many because Asheruveni and his brothers did not keep good records. And in any case, for every legitimate copy, who knows how many bootleg counterfeit copies were sold, the song went like this. And most everyone agrees that if not for Asheruveni, probably Zoargov never would have had a first hit record on a first hit album that sold hundreds of thousands of copies, maybe more than a million. More specifically, if not for the battle that Eleanor talked about in her eulogy for her father, and if not for his breaking of glass ceilings, Zohar Argov probably would not have made that record. And if he had, someone like me, probably never would have heard it. But I've gotten ahead of myself. Asher Ruveni was born in a rough neighborhood in south tel Aviv in 1949, the seventh of a brood of kids that would become 10, five brothers and five sisters and Asha Ruveni did most of his growing up in a tiny two room apartment, one room for the parents and the other for all 10 kids, with a shower outside in the yard, his father, like his mother, an immigrant from Yemen, ran an orange juice stand, a rough wooden booth with a pile of fruit and a citrus press. The neighborhood was rough. There was crime and there was alcohol, and in time there were plenty of drugs too. And to keep the kids straight, the household was one of strict discipline. Before school, the boys helped at the juice stand, and after school too, a failure to do what you were supposed to do might result in a beating. Also, it was a matter of high principle that the Reuvenis, especially the five boys, view themselves as a unit and look out one for the other. When it came time for Asher Reuveni and his four brothers, Meyer, Dani, Dror and Elizor, to make a look logo for the business they ran together, it was two hands clasped together, 10 fingers intertwined for 10 children intertwined, Asha Reuveni said. The business that the Reuveni brothers ran was started in 1958 by Mayor Rouveni, the oldest of the children. It was at the beginning an electrical supply store. The storefront was on Hahagana street, facing the entrance of Shukhatikva, the Hatikva market, a loud bustling row of carts and stands selling vegetables, greens, fruit, chicken, beef, lamb, offal, fish, legumes, rice, nuts, olives, spices, pita, laffa, malawakh, lachuch, halva, lokum, loose tobacco, lighters, and more. Meir Rouveni had studied to be an electrician in the vocational school that most all the boys in Hatikva were sent to in those days, and he got Donny to help him set up the store at first with light bulbs and extension cords and fuses and such, but with time they started selling radios, record players and reel to reel tape recorders, just like all the boys had worked their father's juice sand. Soon enough all five boys were working at the electrical supplies and appliance store, and a sign was painted and hung above the window that read Hachim Ruveni the Reuveni brothers. And customers who came in might find any of the brothers there behind the counter, some of them not yet in their teens but ready to help them. As the years passed and the boys got older, each of them enlisted in the army in this or that combat unit, and when they got out, they each came back to Atikva and back to the store with them, each of them smart Kids, each of them ambitious kids. A certain youthful restlessness came to the store and slowly its nature changed. The boys had grown up on Yemeni music and also Greek, and after a time they started to stock their store with imported records. There were no Yemeni records to be had, but there were Greek records. And they had lots of fans in Hatikvah, though these fans did not, in truth, have lots of money for imported records. But there was enough of a clientele for a corner of the store to be given over to music. After the first cassette recorders were imported into Israel, starting in 1966, the Reuvenis experimented with making their own copies of the Greek records they sold and selling them the copies. A very small scale side hustle. When they started doing it in 1967, the most basic Philips EL3300 series mono cassette recorder went for 500 liras, which was more than an average month's salary. In Atikva, it might be two months salary, so not many people had the machine they needed to play cassettes. But over the next years, as they do with new technologies, prices went down and more and more of the people who came into Rouveni's brothers would look over the cassettes they offered. And as they did, the Reuveni brothers made more and more cassettes they could look over. These things, which took place slowly over years, had to happen in order for it to be possible for Asher Rouveni to change almost all at once, almost in a moment, the very course of the history of Israeli music and culture. This is how he described what happened. In the course of the Yom Kippur War. I was injured and my fiance's brother was killed in the Yom Kippur war. And I was supposed to have my wedding in Dahlia hall with the Greek singer Makis, for those who may remember. But mourning delayed the wedding, and in the end we just had a small wedding at the Rabbina, and a month later, maybe two, I ran into a friend, Chuki is his name, and he said, come on, I'll bring the big Oud band with Benmouch and Daklon to your home and we'll have a chaffle. On Friday night. It was a 60 meter home and 70 people came into an apartment that was maybe 50 or 60 meters big, one on top of the other. At one in the morning, the police came and stopped the celebration. It was our good luck that we recorded the evening, just so we'd have a keepsake. We would sell cassettes, you can call them pirated of Greek Music, in short, we brought a big akai reel to reel recorder and made a tape. When I left the apartment after the police stopped the music, I saw a few neighbors sitting on the stoop listening. And they said, why did you stop? And they were Ashkenazim, hardcore Ashkenazim. And I said, what can I do? It's the police. A week or two later, people started to come into the store, people who heard about the party, some who were at the party, and they said, we want a cassette of the party. They were willing to pay 100 lira just for me to give them a copy. I said, they're willing to pay. We will make cassettes. And the thing started to roll. End quote. To fill in some of the details that Asher Rouveni left out, the brother of Asher Reuveni's fiance, Ilana Tzvi was the fiance's name. The brother, he was named Eliyahu or Eli Zvi. He was a carpenter who also grew up in Atikva. He was a soldier in Golani, and when he was killed by Syrian artillery in the Golan Heights during the war, he, 29 years old, called up in the reserves, the father of two little boys. A chafla is a traditional blowout with alcohol and music and dance. Benmush and Daklon were two of the greatest of the chaflut players, famous in their circles. 100 lira was, like I said, just under a week's salary. And maybe the most important bit of background was that music, like the music at Asher ruveni's Kafla in 1974. The only way to hear it was at a hafla in South Tel Aviv or in Ramla or in Beersheva, or anywhere where there were enough people who came from Yemen or Iraq or Syria or North Africa for there to be bands that hired themselves out to entertain at weddings or parties. You could not hear that kind of music on the radio, which was run by people who came from or whose parents came from Europe and who, as a rule, had no taste for Eastern music. In the 1980s, the Voice of Israel broadcast eight hours of Western music each day alongside exactly 15 minutes of Mizrahi or Western or Arabic music. Insult to injury, some of the pieces presented in this quarter hour were in fact written by European Jews with Oriental trills added on the side. And it wasn't just the radio. Israel had four big record companies, and none of them would print records with the sort of music that you got at the chaflut, which to their ears did not sound like serious music, and often to their ears, not like music at all, save for live at a party there was in Israel in the 1970s, no way to hear this music at all. After hundreds, then thousands of people told him that they would pay a week's salary for a cassette of kafla music. Asher Reuveni saw right away that the time had come for all of this to change. These were the days of the Black Panther protests, when kids of immigrant parents from North Africa or the Middle east, who had taken years of hardships and humiliations is somehow inevitable or worse as something they somehow deserved, started to ask out loud why it was that they seemed always to end up with less than kids of immigrant parents from Europe or the Americas. And part of the less that they ended up with was less of their own music, the music they grew up with and loved. On the radio and in the stores. Asher Rouveni put out word that he was looking for talented singers. And he started going to the clubs in South Tel Aviv and in Ramla and in Or Yehuda and other spots were late at night you could hear Sfaradi or Mizrachi music. He got to know a kid named Jackie MacKayton who wrote songs and played and sang in a band called Slil Ha', Ood, the Sound of the Ood. Jackie Makitan was in a wheelchair. He had polio when he was a kid, and Netanya. He was a boy of aging immigrant parents from Yemen. And he was a prodigious talent. He was the one who wrote the song Eleanor. But that was only one of dozens and dozens of hit songs he would eventually write. Jackie Makitin introduced Acheruveni to Zohar Argov, who was his Jackie Makitin's driver just out of prison. And Zoar Argov sang for him. And Asher Rouveni heard right away that Zoar Argov had what he called a voice you hear once every 50 years. The Reuveni brothers launched a record company, Reuveni Music, and they made records for Jackie Makitin and Zohar Argov and dozens of others. And they sent the records they made to the radio time and again and time and again. None of them ever got played on the air. Asher Uveni's oldest brother, Meir, told this story. One day I went to the Voice of Israel with at least eight new LPs, a few heavy packages I take to the Voice of Israel in Jerusalem. I come to the man I'm there to see. And they tell me, he's in a meeting. Wait on the porch. On the porch there were two big trash cans. They would throw unwanted records into the trash bins. I started to route through the trash cans, and I discovered there all the greats of the Mediterranean singers, especially our singers that we represented in those days. Daklon, Zohar, whomever you want. My soul dropped to my feet. Not just that you don't play us, but you throw us in the trash. That is where we belong. It was for me, like getting cracked over the head with a police nightstick, the condescension, I am in the trash. End quote. That day, Mayor Rouveni told the program manager at the Voice of Israel that the Rouveni brothers were done with state run radio. Going home from Jerusalem in a dark mood, Mayor Rouveni stopped at the old bus station in Tel Aviv, which in those days was used by almost a million people a day. Watching people go this way and that, stopping along the way to shop at the storefronts behind the terminals, Mayor Rouveni had a revelation. In front of him was a man selling lemonade in a stand like his father's. 30 agote a glass. I thought, why can't he sell cassettes? I went to the store and came back with 200 cassettes. I went to a stand and I said, chalom, chalom, would you like to sell recordings? The guy said, how much for? I said, eight lirot, you get 10%. And he was happy. After that, the thing spread like wildfire. End quote. What the Rouveni brothers did was create at the central bus station an alternative both to the radio and to the record companies. The people running the stands and carts in the bus station, they blasted morning to night the music the Rouveni brothers recorded. And a million people a day heard it. And if the record companies wouldn't make and distribute the records, cassettes were cheaper and faster anyway. Soon the bus stations in Beersheva, Jerusalem, Haifa, Kiryat, Shmona, Eilat, they were all one version or another of the bus station in Tel Aviv. Probably the most popular music in Israel in those years, from the middle of the 1970s on, was music that you would never hear on the radio, but that you would always hear when you took the bus from the central bus station. The music of the cassettes. And everyone took buses from the central bus station. Asher Rauveni kept going to the clubs and finding new talents. Chaim, Moshe, Margalitsa, Anani. And after a few years passed, and the singers Asheruveni Managed to fill up bigger clubs and still bigger clubs. Finally, here and there, an invitation came to perform on television and a second generation of Mizrahi singers, Ofer Khaza, probably most of all, they finally had a chance to break through and the radio in the 1980s finally agreed to play them. And music a yam ti khonit Mediterranean music became first finally acceptable and then beloved. And finally it became what people think of when they think of Israeli music. In 1995, Dana International, who grew up the son of Yemeni parents named Jaron Cohen in Hatikva, exactly where Asher Rouveni was fighting the battles he was fighting and bringing breaking the glass ceilings he was breaking. In 1995, Dana International, now a trans woman from Hatikvah, won the Eurovision Song Contest, becoming one of the most beloved singers, not just in Israel, but all around the world. And all of this would not have happened, could not have happened without Asher Rouveni, who saw in a wheelchair bound Jackie Makitan, a genius and a star and who saw in just out of prison drug using Zohar Argov, a genius and a star and who believed that his kid's music ought to be some version of his parents music. Things did not go easily for Acher Reuveni and for the Reuveni brothers. Just like they started by pirating cassettes of records imported from Greece, every record that they put out as an LP or on a cassette was pirated too. There was enough money in the thing that the mafia soon got involved. And one day in the early 1980s, after Acheruveni loaded Eleanor into the back of his Subaru to take her to nursery school and turned the key to the ignition, a grenade went off under his hood. It was a sort of miracle that father and daughter were not killed. They were not even hurt. In 1987 Zohar Argove hung himself in prison where he awaited trial for stealing a gun from a police station and for rape and for a bunch of drug charges. Jackie Makitin found religion and mostly stopped recording. A fire broke out in the Ruveni brothers warehouse, the insurance on which was by mistake let to lapse and millions of dollars in lost inventory all but ruined them. Then the brothers fought over royalties for old music and for years Asher and Elitor were on the out with Mayer and Dani and Dror. There is a trial underway right now over royalties for decades old recordings that remain valuable because the records remain beloved. But the 500 people who came to Asheruveni's funeral and the thousands who passed through the family Shiva on Keelat New York street in Hatikva, the street where the burnt out Reuveni Brothers warehouse used to be, just a couple of meters from where Asher Reuveni and his brothers and sisters grew up and just a couple of hundred meters in another direction from the site of the old Reuveni Brothers electrical supply and appliance store, and just a couple of hundred meters in another direction from the offices of the old Rouveni music operation. This huge life that changed history mostly happened on a few run down city blocks not far one from the other. All of these people who last week came to pay their respects. They loved Asheruveni and they saw in him for good reason, the man who brought their music and their parents music back into their lives and into the lives of their kids and into the lives of all of us. Yehi Zichro Baruch. Today two discussions. Our first discussion War is over if you ignore a thing or two, with apologies to Yoko Ono and the memory of John Lennon, as we learned the night before last that our 40 day war with Iran is over or at least the fire is ceased and we will ask what the hell just happened? And our second discussion, Crime and Punishment as the Knesset approved last week a death penalty for terrorist law. And we will ask what the hell just happened? And for most unreasonably generous Patreon supporters in our extra special special extra discussion, the link to which you can find in our show notes on your podcast app or at patreon.com promisepodcast on the world Wide Web. We will discuss why public support for the war with Iran that just ended the night before last as we record according to polls slowly but continuously diminished as each day of the war passed. And we will wonder how this war is likely to be seen ultimately by those of us who spent it in a shelter. But before we get to any of that, please listen to this. That song is Khalamti Shatapo by Jane Bordeaux. It is a new song out just over the last couple of years weeks and we will listen to new music of these past weeks over the course of the show. And now it is time for our first discussion which we are calling War Is over if youf Ignore A Thing Or Two. And here is why. As you surely already know, just minutes before President Donald Trump's 8pm in Washington, 3:30am in Tehran and 3am in Jerusalem deadline, after which he threatened that quote, a whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again. That civilization being millennia old, Persian civilization, Pakistani Prime Minister Shabazz Sharif announced that the Americans and Iranians had agreed to a two week ceasefire to iron out the last details of an end to the war that started on February 28th. President Trump posted on social media that the reason for the ceasefire is that, quote, we have already met and exceeded all military objectives and are very far along with a definite agreement concerning long term peace, all caps with Iran and peace, all caps in the Middle east. We received a 10 point proposal from Iran and believe it is a workable basis on which to negotiate. Almost all of the various points of past contention have been agreed to between the United States and Iran, but a two week period will allow the agreement to be finalized and consummated, end quote. A few hours after that, Iran released its plan, the 10 points of which are 1 a permanent secession of aggression against Iran, 2 Iran maintains control over the Straits of Hormuz, 3, an end of attacks on Hezbollah in Lebanon, 4American troops withdraw from all bases and all positions in the Middle east. Five, the US Pays Iran reparations for all damage caused during the war. Six, Iran maintains the right to enrich uranium. All direct sanctions on Iran are to be lifted. Eight, all indirect sanctions on Iran are to be lifted. Nine, the International Atomic Energy Agency will repeal all anti Iranian resolutions and 10, all UN Security Council resolutions against Iran will be rescinded. Three hours after the ceasefire was announced, the office of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu tweeted that, quote, Israel supports President Trump's decision to suspend strikes against Iran for two weeks, subject to Iran immediately opening the straits and stopping all attacks on the U.S. israel and countries in the region. Israel also supports the US effort to ensure that Iran no longer poses a nuclear missile or terror threat to America, Israel, Iran's Arab neighbors and the world. The United States has told Israel that it is committed to achieving these goals shared by the U.S. israel and Israel, Israel's regional allies in the upcoming negotiations. The two week ceasefire does not include Lebanon, end quote, which final assertion was a few hours later confirmed by President Trump. The war between Israel and Hezbollah in Lebanon could, as far as President Trump is concerned, continue, although obviously that will be a negotiating point between the Americans and the Iranians. Not long after that, head of the opposition here in Israel, Yair Lapid, called Israel's part in the war with Iran a quote, unquot diplomatic disaster. He said, quote, netanyahu led us into a strategic debacle, nothing less. What we saw was a disgraceful combination of arrogance, irresponsibility, lack of Planning, negligent staff work 0 Handling of the home front and lies sold to the Americans that damaged the trust between the two countries. Of all the possible outcomes, Netanyahu delivered the worst one. The regime in Iran was not defeated, the nuclear threat was not removed and the ballistic missiles and Hezbollah's missile remain aimed at every home in Israel. This war was managed as if the citizens of the State of Israel were the government's cannon fodder. No sheltering solutions, no educational plans, no compensation plans, no plan for Ben Gurion Airport, Nothing. Zero concern for the citizens. End quote. Yowza, Linda, I think that we are all still absorbing, I know that I am the abrupt end of the war and trying to dope out just what it means and where it might lead to. What do you make of our two week ceasefire and what should we all make of it?