There is a place in Haifa, in the center of Mount Carmel, Israel, called “Gan Haem” (mother’s garden). It is a huge park that includes a zoo, a permanent place for an orchestra, and a place for an audience.
There was a pleasant breeze in the evenings on top of Mount Carmel, even on the hottest days. As there is never any rain in Israel during the summer, performances in this park could be planned many weeks in advance.
The concerts were free. No tickets to be ordered and no seats to be reserved. All that was necessary was to turn up before the starting time with a blanket to sit on and a sweater to put on in case of a cool breeze.
The music was always beautiful! The scenery, the sounds, and the twilight turning gradually to dark added to the experience, which seemed perfect to me. The company one chose to listen to the pieces was also important. The whole event was magical.
I spent many summer evenings with friends in that place. Then came the time when I had to move away from Haifa and give it all up—all that I had built during forty-some years, both the good and the bad. How I would miss those summer concerts.
Yet I ended up moving to Tel Aviv, which I also loved, as I was very close to my grandchildren. I could see them whenever we felt like it! No more train rides, bus rides to Haifa, or nostalgic telephone calls. We were three happy campers. I did not miss the evening concerts in Haifa that much after all.
On one of my nightly walks in Tel Aviv, I noticed some preparations in the square behind the building I lived in. I found out that they were for regular nightly outdoor concerts. Although these were different from concerts in Haifa—no breeze, no scenic view, no greenery—Tchaikovsky, Brahms, and Grieg seemed not to mind, as their music sounded the same, giving me the same pleasure.
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