Kovner-Portscapes by Michael Kovner

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MICHAEL KOVNER PORTSCAPES ¯·Â˜†Ï‡ÎÈÓ††ÏÓ†Ï˘†˙Â‡˜ÂÈ„

¯·Â˜†Ï‡ÎÈÓ

MICHAEL KOVNER

PORTSCAPES

Born in 1948 in Kibbutz Ein Ha-Horesh in the Sharon, Michael Kovner started his art studies in the ‘60s with Yohanan Simon. In 1972 he went to the USA to study at the New York Studio School, where he was privileged to meet the artist Philip Guston, who became his teacher and friend. In the summer of 1975 he returned to Israel, settling in Jerusalem. The Jerusalem Artists’ House held an exhibition of the abstract paintings that he had executed in New York. It consisted of large works, very powerful in their use of color and form. On his way back to Israel, he had traveled in Spain, the south of France and Italy, viewing the works of the great painters of the past. From this experience he realized that, for him, abstract art was a dead end. His exhibition in 1979 at the Bineth Gallery in Tel Aviv included, for the first time, bird’s eye views of desert landscapes that combined a concrete vision with abstract values. Ever since, he has been absorbed in landscape painting, exciting art lovers with his scenes of the Judean wilderness, houses in Gaza and multiple perspectives of Jerusalem. To a certain extent, Kovner is continuing the traditional Land of Israel painting that was prevalent from the ‘20s to the ‘50s, until its rejection by the painters of the New Horizons group. But, in contrast to artists such as Gutman, Mokady, Rubin and others, who were not born in the country and who therefore emphasized its romantic aspects and exotic naivete, Kovner’s landscape is an integral part of life as he experienced it while growing up here: the power of the color in his pictures is mixed with the sorrow of existence, vitality with dream, in the full consciousness of existential fragility and finality. In this book, he presents with line, color and words his portrait of a port: its visual and conceptual uniqueness, its legendary and utopian aspects. Poetry, description and documentation complete Michael Kovner’s portscapes.

˙Â‡˜ÂÈ„ ÏÓ†Ï˘

MICHAEL KOVNER PORTSCAPES ¯·Â˜†Ï‡ÎÈÓ††ÏÓ†Ï˘†˙Â‡˜ÂÈ„

¯·Â˜†Ï‡ÎÈÓ

MICHAEL KOV

PORTSCAPES

Contents: Charles Baudelaire V / Walt Whitman VI / Michael Kovner VIII-XXIII / Yoram Melcer XXX–XXXVI / Etchings and drawings VII–XXXVII / Oil paintings 25–71 / Hebrew text 5–24

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To my father, Abba Kovner

PORTSCAPES

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MICHAEL KOVNER The Port â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Images in Line, Color and Words

D.K. GraubArt Publishers Ltd., Jerusalem

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Portscapes Michael Kovner

Acknowledgements: Tally and Boaz Eitan

Design — Mimi Makover Graphics — Nitsa Bruck Translation to English — Chana Sterne Color separations and plates — Art Plus, Jerusalem Printing — Kal Press Ltd., Tel Aviv Editor: Hannah Aschheim © All rights reserved to Michael Kovner & D.K.GraubArt Publishers Ltd. Printed in Israel, 2000 ISBN 965–7176–00–X

All paintings are from 1997–1999 Oil on canvas Measurements in centimeters, height x width. The etchings are part of a series, published in a limited bibliophile edition, accompanied by selected Hebrew poetry

Dan Tsalka Menachem Ben-Shalom Yoram Melcer Avner Schatz

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The Port / Charles Baudelaire A port is a charming abode for a soul tired of the struggles of life. The volume of the sky, the fluid architecture of the clouds, the changing hues of the sea, the twinkling of the beacons are a marvelous prism that amuse the eyes without ever tiring them. The slender shapes of the ships, with their intricate rigging, on which the swell prints harmonious oscillations, provide the soul with its sense of rhythm and beauty.

Translated by Dorothy Kertesz

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Crossing Brooklyn Ferry / Walt Whitman Looked on the haze on the hills Southward and Southwestward, Looked on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, Looked toward the lower bay to notice the arriving ships, Saw their approach, Saw abroad those that were near me, Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, Saw the ships at anchor, The sailors that work in the rigging, or out astride the spars, The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine pennants, The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses, The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels, The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset, The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening, The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite storehouses by the docks, On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flanked on each side by the barges -- the hay-boat, the belated lighter, On the neighboring shore, the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high and glaringly into the night, Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow light, over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets.

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Etching, 12 x 14.8 ¨ËÈ¯Á˙

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Introduction In working on this book, my first idea was to combine poems and paintings to illustrate the portrait of a port. Naively, I thought of choosing poems that would reflect my frame of mind and that would “sing” for themselves in a way that would add interest to my own creations. I discovered that very few poems have been written on the topic. At most, the port appears as a metaphor for the soul and not as an independent entity that is worthwhile in itself. I searched in the Bible and the Talmud, but these sources did not provide much material. The promise to Zebulun: “Zebulun shall dwell by the seashore; He shall be a haven for ships, And his flank shall rest on Sidon”* (Genesis 49:13) is a wish that has not been fulfilled. However, the tie that connects and disconnects between the people and the sea, and the relationship between sovereignty and the port, is latent in a special story. This story has become a local legend: its roots are ancient and its head is in the 20th century (mainly between 1933-1948) and it swings between despair and hope. In this legend, the port is the secondary hero, but it is of vital importance to the very existence and continuation of life. “Already in the fourth millennium BCE, in the Chalcolithic Age, the land that afterwards became the Land of Israel traded by sea with Egypt, Assyria and the islands in the Mediterranean, as a result of which the Canaanites became a people of seafarers and traders.” **

* New Jewish Publication Society translation, Philadelphia and Jerusalem, 1985 ** Prof. Joseph Klausner, “Ancient and Modern Jewish Seamanship”, lecture in Jerusalem to the Israel Maritime League, May 26, 1945, from “Israel and the Sea” — anthology, pub. by Newman Ltd.

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What about us? How is it that our culture is so distant and alienated from the elements found in the great mythology that encompasses a port and its shores? According to research on the ancient Land of Israel, strong peoples (the Philistines and the Canaanites) prevented the Hebrews from access to the sea, and therefore they settled in the mountain plain and on the mountain peaks. Control of the ports is connected to economic and national power, to independence and sovereignty. Nevertheless, in the Hasmonean era, the Jews, who had lost their national independence, succeeded in gaining control of the harbors on the coast, in particular the port of Jaffa, that was called “Yehudah Ha-Yamit” (Marine Judea). But with the Roman conquest and the subjection of the Jewish revolt, their sovereignty was wrested from them, and once again their connection to harbors and to the sea was severed. This connection was renewed with the modern return to Zion, and many stories and letters document the new immigrants’ first encounter with the land via the sea. Stories of the Second Aliyyah (Jewish immigration to Palestine 1904–1914, based on pioneering and Socialist-Zionist ideology) portray the newcomers’ distress when they arrived at the port and discovered haggling, rudeness and cynicism. They suffered a bitter disappointment and their illusions were shattered, but it was also a tremendously erotic introduction to the port’s sun-drenched hinterland, strewn throughout with orange groves.

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The riots of 1936, with their slaughter of Jews, the expulsion from Jaffa, the Nazis’ rise to power in Germany, and the cloud of menace and fear hovering over Jewish existence — all these led the Jews to seek escape from the feeling that the ground was burning beneath their feet. But here in the Land of Israel, the Jews had no port: the construction of the Tel Aviv Port was a deed of daring and vision, and also of necessity. The building of the port by Jewish laborers with Jewish funds added great hope to the small Jewish community that was clinging with its fingernails to its harsh land. A poem by Leah Goldberg “Pale blue from below and pale blue overhead, we are building here a port, here’s a port” symbolized the spirit that blew the sail of hope and of faith that they would become a free people, master of its own fate. The Second World War erupted in 1939. The Jews found themselves within a death trap. The urgency of getting out and reaching their own country pushed thousands of them to the boats, and into strange ports that refused to welcome them. The ports in this country were closed on the instructions of the British Mandate. The sea became the bridge and the port became their final harbor. The port was transformed from a dream, from a place of refuge and rest, into the last vantage point of the struggle for existence and rescue. The heroes of the clandestine immigration were a group of youngsters who carried the whole mission on their backs. The meeting with the immigrants, refugees coming from the inferno to the Promised Land, was an enormous shock to both sides. This encounter took place at sea, in temporary anchorages, at night, bearing the newcomer on their shoulders and giving a hug indicating support and a common fate. With the establishment of the state, Israel’s gates were thrown open. The harbors now belonged to us, but where could Jewish ships and seamen be found? Dozens of youngsters (most of them had led the clandestine immigration and were fighters in the Palyam*) reached the port and boarded the ships out of a belief that a Hebrew navy was about to be established. It was a navy with dream boats. They were faced by an inflexible government struggling for its existence with iron-fisted practicality. Conflict was inevitable. The great sailors’ strike broke out in November 1951.

* Palyam — Unit of the Palmach (pre-state strike force) that engaged in marine operations

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The accelerated development of Zim with the financial assistance of German reparations (1954-1964) and the need to address genuine problems tell a painful story of the struggle between a large vision and a harsh reality. The port, interwoven in the fabric of life, becomes an unseen entity in the nation’s story, a story that incorporates faith and hope, but also the bitter taste of disappointment and missed opportunities.

Etching, 8.5 x 13.5 ¨ËÈ¯Á˙

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In Conclusion Our national memory of the sea and of the ports brings forth clear images of the Dolphin and the Dakar, the Patria, the merchant ships of Zim, the sailors’ strike, the Maccabee’s battle against Rome — all become chapters in the story of the sea that is tamed by a port that claims it for its own. Out of nothing, the word “port” triggers these symbols in the collective consciousness. The great idea of self-realization now appears to us in a new and surprising image, that is very different from what it was originally. Encountering it thus in its new form, beaten and exhausted, corrodes the question: “Was it just a dream?” Zim which, more than anything else, symbolizes the realization of the dream of Hebrew shipping, grew from German reparation monies, becoming a national institution and a flag of success. Yet now it is struggling for its very existence. From a national asset and symbol, it is passing into private hands and paves its way in the hard reality of international competition.* The ports are being expanded, mighty new ships moor at our shores but they go unnoticed. Ithamar Ben-Avi’s call to “love

* Zim was founded on June 7, 1945 by the Jewish Agency and the Israel Maritime League. The Israeli government joined as an equal partner in 1959. The transportation of immigrants was Zim’s primary assignment in its first years. With the establishment of the state, there was an urgent need to develop a merchant navy — the major bridge between Israel and the world. With the signing of the reparations agreement with Germany, Zim made a major breakthrough and became an international company. Its reputation, the quality of its crews, and its operative capability placed it in the front rank of merchant marine companies in the world. In December 1998, there were 32 ships under Israeli ownership and control, and flying the Israeli flag, with a total cargo of 861,000 tons. In addition, there were 23 Israel-controlled ships under foreign flags with a total cargo of 1,394,000 tons. In January 1998, there were 578 Israelis employed in Zim ships.

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the sea” remains suspended in the air and it seems that the stormy past has grown soft opposite the golden shores. Can the port become a permanent symbol of our experience? In his book “Hanging Gardens”*, Gideon Ofrat writes: “A person goes along and sees an orchard, sees a donkey, sees a sabra cactus, sees a place. He goes home and creates a culture, and everything that caught his eye on the way, the private and the accidental, will be considered by that person and by his neighbors to be a new concept. And then what belonged to him as an individual will become general and fixed, as long as the open space constitutes his and his neighbors’ consciousness and subconsciousness.” Historical memory that embodies shared human experience is the condition for the creation of a culture. In turning our backs to the sea and to the port, to the mythological possibilities that are latent in this special enterprise that is close to our very being, we are sealing the resonance box of the song of our existence.

* Published by Omanut Israel, 1991

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Etching, 11.2 x 12.4 ¨ËÈ¯Á˙

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Etching, 11.7 x 14.8 ¨ËÈ¯Á˙

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A port. An expropriated area, separated from the world. A self-sufficient world of its own. Closed off inside fences and large iron gates, so that there’s no chance of seeing what’s happening within. I passed through the gates of the port, and made my way to Quay no. 2, the main dock. This is where you’re invited to play a part in a large theater. The stage, a breakwater anchorage, is built from two quays. You stand on the wharf and on either side of you there are west-facing docks with various types of cranes neatly arranged in order. The cranes look like large elephants with their trunks stretching upwards. The setting is framed by the water below and the sky above. The main actors (the gigantic freighters) have not yet come on stage.

A ship arrives in the port. Before you see its prow and even before you hear its siren, the two barges by the quay dart away into the depths, trailing a white wake behind. This wake expands and expands until, by the time it knocks against the quaysides, the barges have disappeared behind the breakwater. The two barges, with their jagged hulls and a little white house perched on top, look like two swans sailing along. A very short time passes, then a gigantic prow appears, traveling from north to south. This prow is

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Etching, 11.3 x 13.3 ¨ËÈ¯Á˙

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transformed into a large rectangle, so long that its end cannot be seen. It grows and grows until it takes up almost all the space between the quays. And then the barges appear, and after them the white hotel structure that is assembled at the very rear of the cargo ship. The siren blows, then blows again and the two barges (my white swans) start to circle around it. Then very, very slowly, with majestic pomp, it graciously lowers its prow toward the very center of the anchorage. This monstrous block approaches you as you stand safely on the quay. It grows and grows and grows, until it shuts off the sky and casts its enormous shadow over the waters of the dock. With the dance movements of swans, the white-backed barges circle beside it. And slowly, slowly it gives itself up to be sacrificed by the skilled hands of the barge crews. Then, looking just like small blots against the massive mountain, the barges start to push it in the direction of the quay. Now it is lifeless, an imposing block without any movement of its own, quietly approaching to the quayside. As though breathing its last, it is bound up for the sacrifice in its appointed place and is silent. The first ropes are tethered. The barges return to their own mooring. The ship is now anchored in the port.

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Color, a splotch. The sky — pale blue-gray, quiet, without movement. The water in the anchorage is gray-greenish, flat as a mirror. The intense blue-azure stripes of the cranes’ towers stretch out to the heavens, to the center of the firmament. The cranes’ arms extend horizontally: painted orange-white, red-white, orange-white, red-white, they look like gigantic “no parking” stripes within the empty sky. We are awaiting the signal. Then the signal arrives. On the outskirts of the port, the ship appears: a thin, long line of delicate, soft red. As though with the stroke of a colored pencil, a red line is drawn along the center of the empty space. And then, it becomes a red square, but the red is soft, not threatening, only the size of a matchbox. As you look at it, the splotch grows, becoming increasingly red and the arms of the cranes are already disappearing behind it. Then another splotch, almost similar in size, is cast at full force over the water and expands along the width of the anchorage, threatening to overwhelm the pleasant green-gray. The splotch stabilizes, having taken over a third of the dock. It is a soft splash of color but it is strong, intimidating but silent — it is subject to sea-level discipline. Looming over it is the enormous, gnarled, heavy, ominous red blot. That is how the red takes up its position in the space, moving yet not moving,

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silent yet screaming, while on either side of it, the azure towers of the cranes stretch into the gray of the sky, like fine embroidery threads. Act One: greenish gray + red + pale blue + gray-blue, and only the white barges with their orange stripe hint at yet another possibility.

Cranes. Proletarian mechanics for dealing with wide open space. Work vis-Ă -vis rest. Like birds of prey that swoop down over their victim in total understanding of their action, they start their movement down over the cargo ship lying below them like a large hippopotamus. One and three, three and two and then three, three and then one and three all over again, and on and on. Forward and back, up and down, inward and outward, they rend the open space. The crane moves in three directions, and the three movements are integrated as though obeying the directions of an excellent choreographer, and driven by a purposefulness that permits no rest. The containers are peeled off the shipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s deck. Reminiscent of a dancer waving her hands, they wave the containers (each one weighs over a ton) and transfer them to the enormous trucks that surge over the wharf. These trucks are like grasshoppers running hither and thither in the grip of an unstoppable mad lust, joining to

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their backs the containers that are sent from the heavens. The movement — the space — the size. Everything is different here. A container of two tons is a minor detail within such immense space. The floor of the deck (40 x 60 meters) rises up into the skies like the wing of a light aircraft.

Rhythm. The straight movements cut purposefully, inflexibly. Such resoluteness — straight to the goal and then back. The thin straight lines of the crane’s cables meet with the ship’s surfaces. The ship — a body that is mighty and static, metallic and rough, tough and silent. It is at odds with the dynamism, the sharpness and the intensity of the cranes’ power. This peculiar contrast is reminiscent of the vulture and its prey, the bird against the beast, winged creatures against ruminants that chew the cud. The glorious concert carries on unceasingly for several hours, with fabulous harmony and enormous dynamism. Then, quite suddenly it stops, as though on divine command. Everything falls silent. The arms of the cranes are raised, silhouetted against the sky like the large red and white trunks of elephants. The trucks are stopped. The ships quiver as though they are shaking away flies. The last barges have returned to their quays. The whole port is retiring to rest.

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Quiet returns to the world. And once again, the splotches (blue and red and yellow) stand out against the empty sky and the only slight murmur is from wavelets that ripple against the quaysides. This is where you feel the true meaning of rest.

A world of reality and a world of artifice. Here is the very essence of reality, a world of labor and transportation. It is effervescent, breathing, alive. But seen in the benumbing light of the Israeli summer, it is as multi-colored and as strange as a big circus. It is a play that does not let up, an impossible invention. Let us imagine this world as the journey of a loaf of bread that we take into our mouths. It is in our gullet, and now it goes to the stomach, then from the stomach and its upheavals into the blood circulation system and to the individual cell that is waiting impatiently for its arrival. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s how this world operates, the world of a container + the ship + the sea + the port. Except that in this world, everything is artificial and man-made, going from one person to another person with the help of yet a third person. Only the sea and the sky are natureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s great channels that man has harnessed for a wonderful voyage from himself to himself. It is a great human saga.

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Romance. A ship sails from the port. The siren whistles. A thin jet of black smoke rises up to the heavens. The dance of the barges mirrors the swans that escort the queen to the departure point. Departure from the friendly port to the unpredictable open expanses. A red queen going out to the wide sea with a white hotel on her back. The splotch grows continually smaller, gradually disappearing into the sunâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rays that lick the horizon. The white starts breaking apart in the face of the separation, the dream and the yearning for distant worlds: to meet with the dolphins and with the birds that have lost their way, and with the fierce storms as well as the expanses of calm water. It is there, only out there, that our soul longs for its birthplace.

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Drawing, Charcoal on paper¨ 50 x 70 ¨¯ÈÈ ÏÚ ÌÁÙ ¨ÌÂ˘È¯

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Drawing, Charcoal on paper¨ 50 x 70 ¨¯ÈÈ ÏÚ ÌÁÙ ¨ÌÂ˘È¯

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Drawing, Charcoal on paper¨ 50 x 70 ¨¯ÈÈ ÏÚ ÌÁÙ ¨ÌÂ˘È¯

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The Hidden Places of Haifa / Yoram Melcer Haifa is considered to be a practical city: the oil and fuel industry, the port and customs, an oil pipeline, the commercial center for the north of the country, public transport on the Sabbath, inter-ethnic moderation and pragmatism. Everything indicates a life style that tends to a middle-of-the-road median. Yet a close look shows that there is puzzlement regarding the city’s identity and circumstances. How did this city evolve? Since when has it been in existence? What stage has it reached now and what is going to happen next? Haifa is the city that served Theodor Herzl as a model for the optimistic fantasy that he described in his book “Altneuland”, causing many to think of it as the capital of the future Jewish state. On the other hand, some saw it as becoming the second Massada if Rommel’s army were to invade the country. The city hides countless different spheres, transcendental upper worlds and lower corporeal worlds. Haifa’s residents are accustomed to thinking of their city as the small village that it was in Crusader times, that then disappeared from historical documents until the 18th century when the feudal governor Dahir elAmr, commander of the western Galilee, is known to have been a producer of olives and dates. Everybody who has sat through Homeland and Bible lessons in an Israeli school can remember that Jericho is the most ancient city in the world, and that this is somehow connected to substructures of sin and lust that all collapsed back in the time of Joshua. In contrast to this, Haifa is banal, and does not even appear in the Bible. So how can it claim any sort of age seniority? In fact, because of Shiqmonah which is situated close to the edge of the Carmel ridge. Shiqmonah has a history that not only stretches back to the days of King David and King Solomon and is continuously documented until the Arab conquest in the 7th century, but archaeological excavations there in the 1930’s revealed that the city actually existed in the Canaanite era, in the 14th century B.C.E. In other words, people lived in what is now XXX

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modern-day Haifa even before Joshua’s legendary conquest and before Rahab lay in the darkness of her room in Jericho. In addition, if we look at the greater Haifa region of our own day, we can find the very earliest human settlement, by primeval man in the Carmel caves. Those prehistoric settlers were the very first local residents. It is actually a second look at Canaanite-Phoenician Shiqmonah that can teach us something about Haifa. Shiqmonah was indeed a practical town. There was the olive oil industry and the dyeworks for blue-purple colors, fishing, the harbor for setting out on sea voyages for trading and travel, an ancient writing culture, a supranational existence that depended on trading with many people along the Mediterranean coasts, and a physical culture that did not hesitate to gather everything that was good and useful from overseas, from Anatolia and what is now the coast of Turkey and from as far as the mighty Egyptian empire. Between the ancient proto-Haifa and its smoky industrial modern sister, thousands of years and of enigmas are folded, as well, perhaps, as several lessons that can be drawn.

The Carmel: To the Sea, to Lebanon and to the Sky Haifa is the only city in Israel that turns its face to the sea. Many words have been spilled, and rightly, about the fact that Tel Aviv sits with its back to the sea. Tel Aviv is a metropolitan city that flees from the blue of the Mediterranean. Haifa, in contrast, with its views and with the finger of the Carmel pointing to the sea that surrounds it on three sides, looks straight outwards and forward to the far horizon. To put it simply and directly, the city is its port. When a Haifa resident speaks of “town” he means the Lower Town, that is completely linked to and dependent on the port. Likewise, the term “the seamen” is a uniquely Haifa asset. For years, anything that was not available in the stores could be purchased at the seamen’s stalls in Ha-Atzma’ut Street. For example, twenty years ago, and even before that, when Philadelphia Cream Cheese was a rare find, there was XXXII

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never any difficulty getting it from the seamen. And in general, gourmet delicacies found their way, either officially or through smuggling, from the port to the shops in the Lower Town and in the Hadar Ha-Carmel quarter. The major sign of Israeli yuppiness, a good selection of fine coffees, arrives mainly through Eva Coffee House in Ha’Atzma’ut Street where Haifa residents have been purchasing coffee from Guatemela and Kenya for over forty years. The port directs Haifa’s gaze outwards to the world not only because it provides choice consumer products: there is no other city in Israel where a person can stroll along the street, pop into an office and buy tickets for a sea voyage abroad. And when airplane travel was strictly for the wealthy, Haifa’s port was the country’s main exit to the wide world. Zim’s passenger liners became part of the city’s identity. A youth growing up in Haifa could easily dream of sailing to Genoa or Marseilles and even to New York or Bombay. The obscure world of global shipping blurred the dreamers’ knowledge about diplomatic problems, so that both Odessa, on the one hand, and the Baltic Sea, on the other hand, seemed to be equally accessible to people with initiative.

The Haifa Tapestry Haifa is the most mixed city in Israel. Its many ethnic communities live in contact with each other and also in enclaves of their own. Muslims, Christians of many denominations, Armenians, Greeks and Circassians reside in the Lower Town and in part of Hadar Ha-Carmel. In contrast, the Druse dwell on the mountaintop in two villages of their own: Ussafiya and Daliat el-Carmel which, while not officially belonging to the city, are in all aspects a part of it. The human tapestry, that is reminiscent of Alexandria, is enriched by the members of the Ahmadiya sect who live in a village that is gradually becoming another suburb on the Carmel. Their village of Kababir, that is reached via Ra’anan Street and Kabirim Street, stands out from a distance because of its mosque’s two minarets that catch the eye of all travelers on the XXXIV

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road from Tel Aviv. But a visit in the village itself shows that very little is now left of its rural identity: even its houses are the same as regular Jewish apartment buildings, except for the thick window-sills and the somewhat overdone stories of pillars. At the end of the hillside where the village is situated, a residential building project is underway that will blur the place’s identity even more. In actual fact, hardly anything now distinguishes Kababir, except for the very large mosque that stands out because of its restrained elegance. It does not make a display of wealth, but it is obvious to the observer that it also does not suffer from any lack of funding. Basically, it looks like some kind of spacious community center, but the excellent taste shown in the design of its minarets is a symbol both of Islamic pride and of aloofness, as is proper for members of this special sect that split off from Shiite Islam. Leaving Kababir and entering the old-established neighborhoods on the Carmel, one immediately feels the historic justification for Herzl’s choice of Haifa as the model for his vision. Herzl, who studied and lived in Vienna, would have felt at home in a house on the Carmel or in Ahuza, even today. The Carmel still preserves its tranquil character, a manifestation of longings for some German “heimat.” Indeed the abstract German concept, that sums up a nostalgic, romantic and idyllic idea of city-homeland, is alive and flourishing with undiminished power on Mount Carmel. The trees in dark shades of green seem to transport the person promenading along the streets in their shade to somewhere far away from the pressing Israeli “here and now.” The coffee shops, in which even in the yuppie version an atmosphere of gratification is paramount, are still visited by a central European clientele that still conforms to the tradition of the “schlafstunde” (an afternoon nap in German) and enjoys the “Carmel-luft” (the air on the Carmel) together with their little dogs in their Scotch plaid wraps. Of course, the population is changing and the present generation will pass. But meanwhile, it is still possible to see men smoking pipes outdoors, with their freshly shampooed hair in a net lest their coiffure be spoiled before teatime. XXXVI

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110 x 120 ¨„Â„˘‡ ÛÂÁ· ‰ÈÈÂ‡ Ship on the Shores of Ashdod, 110 x 120

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110 x 160 ¨„Â„˘‡ ÏÓ Ashdod Port, 110 x 160

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110 x 130 ¨ÏÓ‰Â ‰ÂÈ„‰ The Dune and the Port, 110 x 130

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˙Â¯Â·¯·Á‰ ÆÔÓˆÚ Ï˘Ó ˙ÂÚÏ·ÂÓ· Ì‚Â Ú‚Ó ÍÂ˙ ‰· ˙ÂÈÁ ˙Â·¯ ˙Â„Ú ÆÏ‡¯˘È· ¯˙ÂÈ· ˙·¯ÂÚÓ‰ ¯ÈÚ‰ ‡È‰ ‰ÙÈÁ ÆÏÓ¯Î‰ ¯„‰Ó ˜ÏÁ·Â ˙È˙Á˙‰ ¯ÈÚ· ÌÈÈÁ ÌÈÒ˜¯ßˆÂ ÌÈÂÂÈ ¨ÌÈÓ¯‡ ¨˙Â·¯ ˙ÂÈÒÎÓ ÌÈ¯ˆÂ ¨ÌÈÓÏÒÂÓ ÌÈÎÈÈÂ˘Ó Í‡ ¯ÈÚ‰ ÔÓ ˜ÏÁ ÌÈ‡˘ ¨ÏÓ¯Î–Ï‡ ˙ÈÏ„Â ‰ÈÙÒÂÚ ∫Ì‰Ï˘Ó ÌÈ¯ÙÎ È˘· ÌÈÈÁ ÌÈÊÂ¯„ ¨Ì˙ÓÂÚÏ ÆÌÈÓÈ‰ ÏÎ· ‰Ï Ë‡–Ë‡ ÍÙÂ‰˘ ¯ÙÎ· ÌÈ·˘ÂÈ ¯˘‡ ‰È„ÓÁ‡‰ ˙Î È· È„È ÏÚ ¯˘ÚÂÓ ‰È¯„ÒÎÏ‡ ˙‡ ¯ÈÎÊÓ‰ È˘Â‡‰ ÛÂ‰ ÈÁÈ¯ˆ È˘ ÏÏ‚· ˜ÂÁ¯ÓÏ ËÏÂ· ¨ÌÈ¯È·Î ·ÂÁ¯Â ÔÚ¯ ·ÂÁ¯ ÂÈÏ‡ ÌÈÎÈÏÂÓ˘ ¨¯È·‡·Î ¯ÙÎ‰ ÆÏÓ¯Î‰ ÏÚ ‰ÂÎ˘Ï ËÚÓÎ ¯˙Â ‡Ï ¯·Î ¨ÂÓˆÚ ÌÂ˜Ó· ¯Â˜È·· Í‡ Æ·È·‡–Ï˙Ó ˘È·Î· ÚÒÂ‰ ÏÎ ÈÈÚÏ ÌÈ¯˜„ÊÓ‰ ¨ÂÏ˘ „‚ÒÓ‰ ˙ÂÂÏÁ‰ È„‡Ï Ë¯Ù ¨¯ÎÂÓ‰ È„Â‰È‰ Û˙Â˘Ó‰ ˙È·Ï ÌÈÓÂ„ ÌÈ˘Ú ÌÈ˙·‰ ÂÏÈÙ‡ Æ˙È¯ÙÎ‰ Â˙Â‰ÊÓ ¯ÎÊ Ï‰˙Ó ¯·Î ¯È·‡·Î ¯ÙÎ‰ ·˘ÂÈ ÂÈÏÚ˘ ¯‰‰–Û˙Î ‰ˆ˜· ÆËÚÓ ˙ÂÊ¯ÙÂÓ‰ ÌÈ„ÂÓÚ‰ ˙ÂÓÂ˜ÏÂ ÌÈ·ÂÚÓ‰ ¯È·‡·Î ˙‡ ÔÈÈÙ‡Ó‰ ¯·„ ÔÈ‡ ÌÂÈÎ ¨‰˘ÚÓÏ ÆÌÂ˜Ó‰ ˙Â‰Ê ˙‡ ¯˙ÂÈ „ÂÚ ˘Ë˘ËÈ˘ ÌÈ¯Â‚ÓÏ ‰ÈÈ· Ë˜ÈÂ¯Ù ÂÈ‡ Ì‚ ‡Â‰˘ ÔÂ·˙ÓÏ ¯Â¯· Í‡ ¨¯˘ÂÚ ÔÈ‚ÙÓ ‡Â‰ ÔÈ‡ Æ˜ÙÂ‡Ó‰ Â¯Â„È‰· ËÏÂ·‰Â ÌÈ„ÓÓ‰ ÏÂ„‚ „‚ÒÓÏ Ë¯Ù ÔÓÒÓ ÌÈÁÈ¯ˆ‰ ·ÂˆÈÚ· ÌÚË‰ ·ÂË Í‡ ¨ÌÈÈ„È ·Á¯ Ò¢˙Ó ÔÈÓÎ ‰‡¯ ‡Â‰ ÂÒÈÒ·· ÆÔÂÓÈÓ· ¯ÂÒÁÓÓ Ï·ÂÒ ÆÈÚÈ˘‰ Ì‡ÏÒ‡‰Ó ‰‚ÏÙ˙‰˘ ¨˙„ÁÂÈÓ ˙Î È·Ï ‰‡ÈÎ ¨˙ÂÏ„·˙‰ Ô‰Â ˙ÈÓ‡ÏÒ‡ ‰ÂÂ‡‚ Â· Ïˆ¯‰ Ï˘ Â˙¯ÈÁ·· ˙È¯ÂËÒÈ‰‰ ‰˜„ˆ‰· „ÈÓ ˘Á ÏÓ¯Î‰ Ï˘ ˙Â˜È˙ÂÂ‰ ˙ÂÂÎ˘Ï ¯È·‡·ÎÓ ‚ÂÒ˘ ÈÓ ÔÈÈ„Ú ÏÓ¯Î‰ ÆÌÂÈÎ ÂÏÈÙ‡ ¨‰ÊÂÁ‡·Â ÏÓ¯Î· ˙È·· ˘Á ‰È‰ ¨‰ÈÂÂ· ÁÓˆÂ ÈÁ˘ ¨Ïˆ¯‰ ÆÂÂÊÁÏ Ï„ÂÓÎ ‰ÙÈÁ· ¨Ë˘ÙÂÓ‰ ÈÓ¯‚‰ ‚˘ÂÓ‰ ÔÎ‡ ÆÈÓ¯‚ ¢Ë‡ÓÈÈ‰¢ Â‰˘ÊÈ‡Ï ÌÈÚÂ‚Ú‚ ¯ÓÂ‡ ÂÏÂÎ˘ ¨ÁÂÈ‰ ÂÈÙÂ‡ ÏÚ ¯ÓÂ˘ ÆÏÓ¯Î‰–¯‰ ÏÚ ˙ÏËÂ·Ó–È˙Ï· ‰ÓˆÂÚ· ÌÈÈ˜Â ÈÁ ¨˙„ÏÂÓ–¯ÈÚ Ï˘ ÈÏÈ„È‡Â ÈËÓÂ¯ ¨È‚ÏËÒÂ ÔÂÈÚ¯ ‚ˆÈÈÓ‰ –È˙· Æ˜ÁÂ„ ÈÏ‡¯˘È ¢ÂÈ˘ÎÚÂ Ô‡Î¢ Â˙Â‡Ó ˙Â·ÂÁ¯· ÍÏ‰˙Ó‰ ˙‡ ÌÈ˜ÈÁ¯Ó ˜Â¯È Ï˘ ÌÈ‰Î ÌÈÂÂ‚· ÌÈˆÚ‰ ¨˙ÈÙÂ¯È‡ ÊÎ¯Ó ‰ÈÒÂÏÎÂ‡ Ì‰ÈÏ‡ ÌÈÈÓÊÓ ¨ÁÂ¯–˙¯Â˜ Ï˘ ‰¯ÈÂÂ‡ Ì‰· ˙Ï˘ÂÓ ˙ÈÙ‡È‰ Ì˙Ò¯‚· Ì‚˘ ¨‰Ù˜‰ Æ ‰Ó‚Â„· ÌÈ¯„ÂÂÒ‰ ÈÈÂËÚ ÌÈ·Ï·ÏÎ‰ ÌÚ „ÁÈ ¢ËÙÂÏ–ÏÓ¯Î¢Ó ˙È‰ ¢‰„ÂË˘–Û‡Ï˘¢Ï ˙„‚ÂÒ ÔÈÈ„Ú˘

ÌÈ˘ÚÓ‰ ÌÈ¯·‚ ˙Â‡¯Ï Ô˙È ÔÈÈ„Ú Í‡ Æ¯Ó˘È˙ ‡Ï È‡„ÂÂ·Â ˙ÙÏÁ˙Ó Ì˙Ò‰ ÔÓ ‰ÈÒÂÏÎÂ‡ Æ˙È„ÈÏÂÒ ˙ÈËÂ˜Ò 80 x 120 ¨ÔÂ˘È˜‰ ÏÓ The Kishon Port, 80 x 120

Æ‰˙‰ ˙Ú˘ ÈÙÏ ˙˜Â¯Ò˙‰ Ï˜Ï˜˙˙ Ï·Ï ¨˙˘¯· ÛÂËÚ ÛÂÙÁ‰ Ì¯ÚÈ˘ ¨ÁÂ˙Ù‰ ÛÂ‰ ÏÂÓ ˙¯Ë˜Ó

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ÌÈÓ˘ÏÂ ÔÂ·ÏÏ ¨ÌÈÏ ∫ÏÓ¯Î‰ ·‚‰ ÌÚ ¯ÈÚ ‡È‰ ·È·‡–Ï˙˘ ÍÎ ÏÚ ¨˜„ˆ·Â ¨ÂÎÙ˘ ˙Â·¯ ÌÈÏÈÓ ÆÌÈÏ ‰ÂÙ‰ ı¯‡· ‰„ÈÁÈ‰ ¯ÈÚ‰ ‡È‰ ‰ÙÈÁ ÛÈ˜Ó‰ ÌÈ‰ Ï‡ ‰¯ÂÓ‰ ÏÓ¯Î‰ Ú·ˆ‡Â ÛÂ‰ ÌÚ ‰ÙÈÁ ¨‰˙ÓÂÚÏ ÆÔÂÎÈ˙‰–ÌÈ‰ ÏÂÁÎÓ ËÏÓ‰ ÔÈÏÂÙÂ¯ËÓ ¨ÌÈÏ Æ˜ÙÂ‡‰ Ï‡ ¨‰‡Ï‰Â ‰ÓÈ„˜ ˙Â·˙Ó ‰ÏÂÎ ¨ÌÈ¯·Ú ‰˘ÂÏ˘Ó ¯ÈÚ‰ ˙‡ ‰ÏÂÎ˘ ¨˙È˙Á˙‰ ¯ÈÚÏ ÔÂÂÎ˙Ó ‡Â‰ ¢¯ÈÚ‰¢ ÏÚ ¯·„Ó È‡ÙÈÁ ¯˘‡Î ÆÏÓ‰ ‡È‰ ¯ÈÚ‰ ¨¯È˘È‰Â ËÂ˘Ù‰ Ô·ÂÓ· ÈÂˆÓ ÂÈ‡˘ ¯·„ ÏÎ ¨ÌÈ˘ Í˘Ó· ÆÈ‡ÙÈÁ ÏÊ¯· Ô‡ˆ ÒÎ ‡Â‰ ¢ÌÈ‡ÓÈ‰¢ ‚˘ÂÓ‰ Ì‚ ÆÂ· ‰ÈÂÏ˙Â ÏÓÏ ˙¯·ÂÁÓ Philadelphia Cream

¯˘‡Î ¨¯˙ÂÈÂ ‰˘ ÌÈ¯˘Ú ÈÙÏ Æ˙Â‡ÓˆÚ‰ ·ÂÁ¯· ÌÈ‡ÓÈ‰ ÈÎÂ„· Â‚È˘‰Ï Ô˙È ˙ÂÈÂÁ·

˙‡ ÌÈ˘ÂÚ ÍÈÁ‰ ÈÈ‡Ï ÌÈÓÚËÓ ¨ÏÏÎÎÂ ÆÌÈ‡ÓÈ‰ Ïˆ‡ Â‡ˆÓÏ È˘Â˜ ÏÎ ‰È‰ ‡Ï ¨¯È„ ¯ˆÂÓ ‰È‰

Cheese

˙ÂÈÙ‡È‰ Ï˘ ÏÂ„‚‰ ÏÓÒ‰ ÆÏÓ¯Î‰ ¯„‰·Â ˙È˙Á˙‰ ¯ÈÚ· ˙ÂÈÂÁÏ ÏÓ‰Ó ‰Á¯·‰· Â‡ ÈÓ˘¯ ÔÙÂ‡· ÌÎ¯„ ÌÈÂ˜ ÌÈ‡ÙÈÁ Æ˙Â‡ÓˆÚ‰ ·ÂÁ¯· ¢‰ÂÂ‡¢ ‰Ù˜ ˙ÂÚˆÓ‡· ¯˜ÈÚ· ÚÈ‚Ó ¨¯Á·ÂÓ‰ ‰Ù˜‰ È‚ÂÒ ÏÏ˘ ¨˙ÈÏ‡¯˘È‰ ˜¯ ‡Ï ÌÏÂÚÏ ‰ÙÈÁ Ï˘ ‰Ë·Ó ˙‡ ‰ÙÓ ÏÓ‰ Æ‰˘ ÌÈÚ·¯‡Ó ‰ÏÚÓÏ ‰ÊÓ ‰È˜ÓÂ ‰ÏÓË‡Â‚Ó ‰Ù˜ Ì˘ ÒÎÈ‰Ï ¨·ÂÁ¯· ÍÏ‰˙‰Ï Ì„‡ ÏÂÎÈ ‰·˘ ı¯‡· ¯ÈÚ „ÂÚ ÔÈ‡ ÆÌÈ¯Á·ÂÓ ‰ÎÈ¯ˆ È¯ˆÂÓÏ ¯Â˜Ó Â˙ÂÈ‰ ˙ÈÁ·Ó ‰ÙÈÁ ÏÓ ‰È‰ ¨ÔÂÓÓ ÈÏÚ·Ï ÔÈÈÚ ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ‰ÒÈË Ì‰·˘ ÌÈÓÈ· ÆÏÂ„‚‰ ÌÏÂÚÏ ‰‚ÏÙ‰Ï ÒÈË¯Î ˙Â˜ÏÂ „¯˘ÓÏ ¯ÚÎ Æ¯ÈÚ‰ Ï˘ ‰˙Â‰ÊÓ ˜ÏÁÏ ÂÎÙ‰ ÌÈˆ Ï˘ ÌÈÚÒÂ‰ ˙ÂÈÂ‡Â ¨ÌÏÂÚ‰ Ï‡ ‰È„Ó‰ Ï˘ È¯˜ÈÚ‰ ‡ˆÂÓ‰ ˙ÂÙÒ‰ Ï˘ ÈÏÂÏÙ‡‰ ÌÏÂÚ‰ ÆÈÈ·ÓÂ·ÏÂ ˜¯ÂÈ–ÂÈÏ Û‡Â ÈÈÒ¯ÓÏÂ ‰‡Â‚Ï ‰‚ÏÙ‰ ÏÚ ÌÂÏÁÏ Ì‚ ˙ÏÂÎÈ ¨‰ÙÈÁ· ‰ÊÓ ÈËÏ·‰ ÌÈ‰Â ‰ÊÓ ‰Ò„Â‡ Ì‚Â ¨ÌÈÈËÓÂÏÙÈ„ ÌÈÒÁÈ Ï˘ ˙ÂÏ‡˘ ÌÈÓÏÂÁ‰ Ï˘ Ì˙Ú„· ˘Ë˘ÈË ˙ÈÓÏÂÚ‰ Æ‰È˘Â˙‰ ÈÏÚ·Ï ‰‚˘‰–È· Â‡¯

120 x 140 ¨ÏÓ¯Î ¯‰ ‰ÏÚÓÓ View from Mount Carmel, 120 x 140

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¯ˆÏÓ Ì¯ÂÈ Ø ‰ÙÈÁ È¯˙ÒÓ ¨ı¯‡‰ ÔÂÙˆÏ È¯ÁÒÓ ÊÎ¯Ó ¨ËÙ ¯ÂÈˆ ¨ÒÎÓÂ ÏÓ ¨ÌÈ˜Ï„Â ÌÈÓ˘ ˙È˘Ú˙ Æ˙È˘ÚÓ ¯ÈÚÏ ˙·˘Á ‰ÙÈÁ ˙ÂÚˆÂÓÓÏ ‰ËÂ‰ ÌÈÈÁ ˙ÓÈ¯Ê ÏÚ ÚÈ·ˆÓ ÏÎ‰ ¨˙ÂÈËÓ‚¯ÙÂ ˙È˙„Ú–ÔÈ· ˙ÂÈ˙Ó ¨˙·˘· ˙È¯Â·Èˆ ‰¯Â·Á˙ Æ‰Â˙Ó ‡È‰ È˙ÓÓ ø¯ÈÚ‰ ‰¯ˆÂ „ˆÈÎ Æ‰· ÈÂˆÓ˘ ‰ÓÂ ¯ÈÚ‰ ˙Â‰Ê È·‚Ï ˙ÂÈÒÈÒ· ˙ÂÈ‰˙ ‰ÏÚÓ ·Â¯˜Ó Ë·Ó ÌÏÂ‡Â ÂÏ˘ ˙ÈËÒÈÙÂËÂ‡‰ ‰ÈÊ‰· Ïˆ¯‰Ï Ï„ÂÓ ‰˘ÓÈ˘˘ ¯ÈÚ‰ ø‰ÂÙ ‡È‰ Ô‡ÏÂ ˙‡ˆÓ ‡È‰ ÔÎÈ‰ ø˙ÓÈÈ˜ ‰„ˆÓ ÏÚÎ Í„È‡ÓÂ ¨„ÁÓ ˙È„È˙Ú‰ ÌÈ„Â‰È‰–˙È„Ó Ï˘ ‰¯È·‰ ÏÚÎ ‰ÈÏÚ Â·˘Á ÌÈ·¯ ¯˘‡Â ¨¢„ÏÈÂËÏ‡¢ Æ¯ÂÙÒ–ÔÈ‡Ï ÌÈÂ˙Á˙Â ÌÈÂÈÏÚ ˙ÂÓÏÂÚ ‰¯È˙ÒÓ ¨Ï‡¯˘È–ı¯‡Ï ÏÓÂ¯ ˙Â‡·ˆ ÂÚÈ‚È Ì‡ ‰ÈÈ˘ ‰‡ÓÏ „Ú ‰È¯ÂËÒÈ‰‰ ÈÓÂ˘È¯Ó ÌÏÚ˘ ¨ÌÈ·Ïˆ‰ ÈÓÈ· ÔË˜ ¯ÙÎ ÏÚÎ Ì¯ÈÚ ÏÚ ·Â˘ÁÏ ÌÈÏÈ‚¯ ÌÈ‡ÙÈÁ È¯ÂÚ˘ ¯‚Â· ÏÎ Æ˙Â„È¯Ó‰Â ÌÈ˙ÈÊ‰ ˜ÈÙÓ È·¯Ú‰ ÏÈÏ‚‰ ÏÚ ˘ÏÁ˘ ¯ÓÃ ÚÏ‡ ‹ ¯‰‡„ ÈÏ„Â‡ÈÙ‰ ÔÂ„‡‰ ÈÓÈÏ ¨±∏–‰ ˙ÂÈ˙Á˙Ï ¯˘Â˜Ó ¯·„‰Â ¨ÌÏÂÚ· ‰˜È˙Ú‰ ¯ÈÚ‰ ‡È‰ ÂÁÈ¯È ÈÎ ¯ÂÎÊÏ ‰˙ÂÓ ÈÏ‡¯˘È ¯ÙÒ–˙È·· Í¢˙Â ˙„ÏÂÓ Ê‡ ¨Í¢˙· ‰ÚÈÙÂÓ ‰È‡ ÂÏÈÙ‡ ˙ÈÏ‡·‰ ‰ÙÈÁ ¨‰˙ÓÂÚÏ ÆÔÂ–Ô· Ú˘Â‰È ÈÓÈ· „ÂÚ ÂÒ¯˜˘ ‰˜Â˘˙‰Â ‡ËÁ‰ øÈ‰˘ÏÎ ‰¯ÂÎ·Ï ÔÂÚËÏ ÏÎÂ˙ „ˆÈÎ „Â„ ÈÓÈÏ ÌÈÚÈ‚Ó˘ „·Ï· ÂÊ ‡Ï ‰È˙Â¯Â˜˘ ¨‰ÂÓ˜˘ ‰ÈÂˆÓ ¨ÏÓ¯Î‰ ÒÎ¯ Ï˘ Â„ÂÁÏ ÍÂÓÒ ¨¯·„ Ï˘ Â˙ÈÓ‡Ï ˙Â˘· ¯·Î ¨ÂÏÚ‰ ‰· ˙Â¯ÈÙÁ‰˘ ‡Ï‡ ¨˙ÈÚÈ·˘‰ ‰‡Ó· È·¯Ú‰ ˘Â·ÈÎÏ „Ú ˙ÂÙÈˆ¯· ÌÈ„ÚÂ˙ÓÂ ‰ÓÏ˘Â ‰ÙÈÁ· ¨¯ÓÂÏÎ Æ‰¯ÈÙÒ‰ ÈÙÏ „¢È‰ ‰‡Ó· ¨ÌÈÚÎ‰ ÈÓÈ· „ÂÚ ‰ÓÈÈ˜˙‰ ¯ÈÚ‰˘ ¨ÂÏ˘ ‰‡Ó‰ Ï˘ ÌÈ˘ÂÏ˘‰ ÆÂÁÈ¯È· ‰¯„Á ˙ÂÈÏÂÏÙ‡· ·Á¯ ‰·Î˘ Ì¯Ë·Â Ú˘Â‰È Ï˘ È„‚‡‰ ˘Â·ÈÎ‰ ÈÙÏ „ÂÚ Ì„‡–È· Â·˘È ÂÈÓÈ Ï˘ Ì„‡‰ Ï˘ ÂÊ ¨‰Â˘‡¯‰ ˙Â·˘ÈÈ˙‰Ï ÚÈ‚‰Ï ÏÎÂ ÂÈÓÈ Ï˘ È˙·¯ ‰ÙÈÁ ÈÓÂÁ˙ ÏÚ ËÈ· Ì‡ ¨ÍÎÓ ‰¯˙È ÆÌÈÂ˘‡¯‰ ÌÈ‡ÙÈÁ‰ ÏÚÎ ÌÈÈ¯ÂËÒÈ‰–‰¯Ù ÌÈÏÁ˙Ó Ì˙Â‡ ÏÚ ÊÈ¯Î‰ÏÂ ¨ÏÓ¯Î‰ ˙Â¯ÚÓ· ÔÂÓ„˜‰ ÔÎ‡ ‰˙ÈÈ‰ ‡È‰‰ ‰ÂÓ˜˘ Æ‰ÙÈÁ ÏÚ ‰Ó–¯·„ Â„ÓÏÏ ÏÂÎÈ ˙È˜ÈÙ–˙ÈÚÎ‰ ‰ÂÓ˜˘ ÏÚ ÛÒÂ Ë·Ó ‡˜ÂÂ„ Í‡ ÌÂÈ˜ ¨‰ÓÂ„˜ ‰·È˙Î ˙Â·¯˙ ¨‰ÚÈÒÏÂ ¯ÁÒÓÏ ÌÈ‰ Ï‡ ‰‡ÈˆÈÂ ‚È„ ¨ÔÓ‚¯‡–˙ÏÎ˙Â ÌÈ˙ÈÊ ˙È˘Ú˙ Æ˙È˘ÚÓ ¯ÈÚ ÏÎ ÛÂÒ‡ÏÓ ‰ÚÓ ‡Ï˘ ˙ÈÒÈÙ ˙Â·¯˙Â ÔÂÎÈ˙‰–ÌÈ‰ ÈÙÂÁ Í¯Â‡Ï ÌÈ·¯ ÌÈÓÚ ÌÚ ¯ÁÒÓ ÏÚ ÍÓÒ˘ ÈÈ„Ó–ÏÚ 90 x 116 ¨‰ÙÈÁ ˙ËÈÒ¯·ÈÂ‡Ó Ë·Ó View from Haifa University, 90 x 116

‰˙Â‡ ÔÈ·Â Æ‰¯È„‡‰ ˙È¯ˆÓ‰ ‰È¯ÙÓÈ‡Ï „ÚÂ ÂÈÓÈ Ï˘ ‰ÈÎ¯Â˙ ÈÙÂÁÂ ‰ÈÏÂË‡Ó ¨·Á¯Ó‰ ÔÓ ÏÈÚÂÓÂ ·ÂË ¯·„ ÆÌÈÁ˜Ï ¯ÙÒÓ Ì‚ ÈÏÂ‡Â ˙Â„ÈÁÂ ÌÈ˘ ÈÙÏ‡ ˙ÂÏÙÂ˜Ó ¨‰ÏÓÚ‰Â ‰˘Ú‰ ¨˙È¯„ÂÓ‰ ‰˙ÂÁ‡Ï ‰ÓÂ„˜ ‰ÙÈÁ–ÂËÂ¯Ù ∂≤

Namal layout p44-70 +37-2007

∂±

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19 x 24 ¨ÏÓ· ‰ÈÈÂ‡ A Ship in the Port, 19 x 24

50 x 60 ¨ÌÂ„‡ ÔÚËÓ ÌÚ ¢˙Ù˜¯¢ “Rakefet” (“Cyclamen”) with Red Cargo, 50 x 60

40 x 70 ¨ÏÂÁÎ· ¯·Âˆ ˙ÈÈÂ‡ Bulk Carrier in Blue, 40 x 70

40 x 50 ¨ÛÈˆ¯· ˙ÂÏÂÎÓ Containers at the Quay, 40 x 50

∂∞

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90 x 140 ¨≥ ÌÂË¯Á Prow No. 3, 90 x 140

μπ

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Prow No. 1, 100 x 140 ¨± ÌÂË¯Á

Prow No. 2, 100 x 140 ¨≤ ÌÂË¯Á

μ∏

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100 x 150 ¨˙ÂÚÓ„‰ ÁÊÓ· ˙È„ ‰ÈÈÂ‡ Danish Ship at the Quay of Tears, 100 x 150

μ∑

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100 x 150 ¨˙ÂÚÓ„‰ ÁÊÓ· ˙È„ ‰ÈÈÂ‡ Danish Ship at the Quay of Tears, 100 x 150

μ∂

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‰˙‡È˘ ˙ÏÂÎÈ ‰˙Â˘ π∞–‰ ˙Â˘· Æ˙ÂÏÂÎÓ ¥≤∞ — ‰‡È˘ ˙ÏÂÎÈ ˙ÏÚ· Æ¯˘˜ ±∏ ˙Â¯È‰Ó ¨ßÓ ≤∞ ·ÁÂ¯ ¨ßÓ ±≤∏ Í¯Â‡ Æ±π∑≤–· ‰˜˘Â‰ ¨Ï‡¯˘È ˙ÂÙÒÓ· ‰˙· ¢˙Ù˜¯¢ ÆÔÂË π¨¥∞∞ — ÒÓÚÓ Æ˙ÂÏÂÎÓ ∂μ∞–Ï “Rakefet” (“Cyclamen”) was built in Israel Shipyards and launched in 1972. Length 128 meters, width 20 meters, speed 18 knots, haulage capacity 420 containers. In the ‘90s, its haulage capacity was expanded to 650 containers and its loading capacity to 9,400 tons.

“Rakefet” (“Cyclamen”), 100 x 150 ¨¢˙Ù˜¯¢

μμ

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Unloading Wharf in Red, 30 x 60 ¨ÌÂ„‡· ‰˜È¯Ù‰ ÛÈˆ¯

μ¥

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μ≥

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110 x 120 ¨ÌÂ„‡· ‰¯·Â„ Barge in Red, 110 x 120

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Cargo Ship, 115 x 140 ¨‡˘Ó ˙ÈÈÂ‡ Enlarged detail on following page Ì„Â˜ „ÂÓÚ· ‰Ï„‚‰· Ë¯Ù

μ≤

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Namal layout p44-70 +37-2007

¥π

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Containers and Cranes, 19 x 24 ¨ÌÈÙÂÓÂ ˙ÂÏÂÎÓ

110 x 130 ¨ÌÈÙÂÓÂ ‰ÓÂ˙Î ‰ÈÈÂ‡ Orange Ship and Cranes, 110 x 130

Containers’ Quay, 50 x 60 ¨˙ÂÏÂÎÓ‰ ÛÈˆ¯

¥∏

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110 x 130 ¨‡˘Ó ˙ÈÈÂ‡Â ‰ÓÂ˙Î ‰¯·Â„ Orange Barge and Cargo Ship, 110 x 130

¥∂

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¥μ

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14 x 24 ¨¯Ó˘Ó ˙¯ÈÒ Guard Boat, 14 x 24

¥¥