Once upon a time in the shuk Levinsky
When I began dating my fiancee in small-town Florida, a “refugee” as he described himself, seeking shelter from the threat of war and rocket fire after the horrors of October 7th, it wasn’t long before he began to reveal to me the special details of his life back in Israel.
“I live inside of a market,” he said, and my imagination began to reel. I typed the address into Google Maps and walked down the streets, as one does, through the eye of some trolling, futuristic camera mounted on top of a Toyota. Only after he asked me to come back with him did I begin to picture myself strolling through or stopping by this magical, mysterious market whenever the moment of necessity beckoned me.
Two months later, and the magic of the Levinsky shuk—a several blocks-long stretch of restaurants, bars, and market stalls containing gourmet delicacies, plants, spices, nuts, grains, cheeses and oils—waxes superior to what I had conjured in my mind or viewed through my digital peephole, for it’s almost like a secret market, obscured from the crowds that only appear at the end of the week or on holidays. [Pro tip: Try the market on a Wednesday.]
Levinsky Street itself has become a pedestrians-only promenade, so that many of the restaurants spill out onto the pavement where people sit and drink wine or beer, sopping up bowls of hummus with fluffy pita, cigarettes held perched between brown fingers. It’s a see-and-be-seen type of landscape, like so much of Tel Aviv, forever young at heart (and body, too. Let's be honest).
On Fridays, before the end of the day and the arrival of the Shabbat, the Levinsky shuk is packed with people. Bars are standing room only, restaurants are booked out or have long waiting lists, and one borekas stand (squares of puff pastry stuffed with soft cheese and veggies, served with boiled eggs and olives) has a line that spans the width of the street, and then some.
There’s a pervasive sense, from block to block, that people have come from different parts of the city and even the suburbs to spend Friday lunch on Levinsky Street, such that it humbles me to cut through the fray and be back at my door in 90 seconds, the approximate length of time it takes me to walk home. From our balcony I can still hear the hubbub, the manic honking of cars trying to cut across the sea of bodies floating past in a galaxy of open containers, tote bags brimming with freshly baked challahs and babkas and Friday bouquets of flowers—a Shabbat tradition that I, too, have come to embrace with all heart and vigor.
And it’s not very surprising that this tiny country, situated on the Mediterranean but firmly rooted in Middle Eastern psychogeography, still possesses the pace of society that people like me (Americans, dreamers) associate with Paris or some other European capital, where dinners are made from what looks freshest at the market that day, and the (still warm) bread du jour is bought from one’s favorite local bakery, and spices are scooped from giant baskets, and arak is drunk at noon by the old and aging men who always seem to be on holiday.
The more I wander--never minding the eyes on me that I imagine know right away that I am a foreigner with my foreign gaze--the more I absorb, and the more it delights me:
The market of fine delicacies with a handmade wooden sign that says “Yom Tov,” or “good day”;
the hidden treasure trove of oils and pastas and nuts and chocolate that live behind a curtain of plastic;
the corner shop that sells essential oils and dried flowers and candles;
halva as a part of life.
Each time I walk down Levinsky Street, the more of its faces it shows me--shapes and tones and sounds that become revealed.
The living market, living spirit.
And all it requires is your arrival.
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A Guide to My Favorites in the Levinsky Market
1. Sabich
When I first met my fiancee, there was one answer that resolutely stood above the rest when I asked him what he missed most about Tel Aviv: sabich. If you, like me, have never heard of such a delicacy (not pronounced like it’s spelled in the transliterated version of the word [sa-bitch], but with the guttural kh sound Hebrew is known and loved for [sa-beekh] ), please allow me to enlighten you: Take the fluffiest-ever pita and stuff it with fried eggplant, potato, hardboiled egg, spices, chopped herbs, tahini, hummus, and amba—a tangy mango pickle sauce. The literal first thing we did after we dropped off our suitcases and checked that our apartment hadn’t been raided in our prolonged absence? Sabich on Levinsky Street.
2. Mano Vino wine shop
A good wine shop is one of the cornerstones of a well-rounded and civilized neighborhood. The most important features of a wine shop, in my opinion, come down to two aspects, and neither of them require the business to be independently owned (though it can be a plus—the shop featured here is a chain):
- Variety, in all ways.
- Patient and knowledgable staff.
Mano Vino on Levinsky Street has both of these in spades. The gentleman who helped me on a Thursday afternoon was attentive and generous in his descriptions, asking me the right questions in order to figure out what I would most enjoy drinking right now, and not merely “in general.” The prices were varied and reasonable, and bottles could be found from all over Europe and Israel. There were several “2 for” and “3 for” deals, and within moments of my entering the shop, I had a glass of cool white wine generously handed off to me for my educated enjoyment.
3. That little shop behind the plastic.
I have to come clean about something. I don’t know what this shop is called and I was too shy to ask. It’s always so busy in there and so incredibly tiny, just a horseshoe-shaped floor plan with only one way in and one way out. To keep the air or heat in, respectively, long plastic panels protect the shop, like the noodly hands of a drive-through carwash. I love this little shop, for there is something uniquely satisfying about its contents: Imported pastas, flours, sauces, and glass jars of pickled delicacies suspended in briny liquids. Rows and rows of olive oil from different regions where the sun is hot and the earth is dry. Chocolate from Switzerland. Baskets of dates, pistachios, almonds, figs, all naked and ready to be sampled. And on and on. A very old man, whilst waiting in line, once told me I was so very beautiful, and that didn’t hurt the case I always make for this shop, either.
4. Junky Burger
Burgers in Israel aren’t like burgers in America, ie. delicious…The beef just doesn’t taste the same (ie. good) or have the same mouth-feel (ie. tender.) Criticisms aside, Junky Burger has some USA mojo going on behind the scenes, producing the best burger we’ve had in Tel Aviv, and only second to Shake Shak, which just opened up near Dizengoff Square but which is a multi-continent conglomerate and therefore probably has several unfair advantages over Junky Burger. The fries are great. The onion rings, delicious. And the chicken sandwich is fried in a coating of Corn Flakes. Great pickles, great sauces. These guys know hometown fast food.
5. Spice shops
I reckon that the dreamiest thing about any Middle Eastern market are those huge woven baskets of unadulterated spices and dried herbs (and perhaps the furthest thing from shopping in supermarkets back home, where everything is sealed in shrink wrap.) The Levinsky shuk has several stalls offering bulk spices, teas, nuts, and dried fruit. The proprietors are knowledgable and helpful if not friendly, and the aromas…Merely walking by sends me into a dried roses and star anise daze.
6. Vintage clothing stores
Thrifting is an activity I really took for granted in America. I even made a business out of it by selling second-hand vintage clothing in hipster sidewalk markets and through online fashion web portals. Wanna look chic but are short on cash? Goodwill rarely fails to perform. But not every culture partakes. Ireland, for instance, is extremely light on thrift shopping. Tel Aviv is a different story. All around the Levinsky shuk you’ll find vintage clothing stores, sandwiched in wherever they can fit. Prices vary, and are generally higher than shops back home, but good deals can be found for those who are patient enough to browse. My favorite shops are found in the 12-ish block stretch from Levinsky Street, down to Herzl, over to Florentin, and then back up Nachalat Binyamin.
7. Any one of the sidewalk restaurants
Pop-up restaurants spilling out onto pedestrian streets are a very Tel-Avivian thing, I’ve come to learn. And though the Levinsky shuk has one or two of these on weekend evenings only, it’s the brick and mortar establishments with 2-6 tables at most which intrigue me more. Where most of these restaurants refrain from taking reservations, it’s merely up to chance and timing if you’ll be able to sit and eat, this time. Luckily, several such restaurants populate Levinsky Street, and all of them seem to be patronized by locals, meaning you can’t really go wrong in choosing. Whether you’re craving humus, fish, African, Yemen, Italian, falafel, shawarma…I recommend spying what the people are eating then gesturing to the host while you make yourself comfy at a (fleetingly, serendipitously) empty table.
8. The wonderful vibe and energy
I can’t quite put my finger yet on the why, but there’s an intoxicating sense of freedom present amidst the Levinsky shuk. Maybe it’s because it’s in south Tel Aviv where the pace of life sometimes feels slower and more neighborhoodly. Maybe it’s the high vibrational frequency of fresh spices, good foods, people on holiday, blossoming trees and flower bouquets wrapped in brown paper, etc. etc. Whatever the source, that marvelous feeling that comes with giving yourself permission to take up space is so very present on this stretch of street, and in Israel, in general. Thursday, late morning, is my favorite time to stroll down the middle of the pedestrian streets, observing what people are eating and drinking, admiring the bouquets (which I refrain from purchasing because they’re cheaper on Fridays) and generally just allowing my eyes to feast on every little detail, for the city, truly, is a living canvas of ever-changing beauty.
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