I had tickets for a party Thursday night at a club in Tel Aviv.
It was organized and was going to be filled with the little-known subculture of Grateful Dead aficionados in Israel – much higher in numbers (and younger in age) than you would think.
The event was celebrating the life and music of Jerry Garcia, the Dead’s guiding light, whose aura shines even brighter almost 30 years after his death. New generations of music fans, unmoved by the offerings of their peers, have discovered the magic in the improvised jams, delicate melodies and hippie sentiments that the Dead reveled in.
Definitely not for everyone, granted. The evening – slated to run until close to daybreak Friday – was likely to consist of a primo sound system belting out selections from the endless treasure trove of live shows from the Dead’s and Garcia’s solo multi-decade careers, with hundreds of Deadheads socializing, grooving, and dancing in various states of elevated consciousness.
The party was named ‘Days Between’ – a reference to a latter-day Dead song never officially released, that philosophizes about the passage of life, what is fleeting and what remains. It also refers to the days between Garcia’s birthday on August 1 and his death in 1995 at age 53 on August 9.
Worries of war aside, celebrate music and life
But it also aptly described the limbo that the Israeli people have been feeling the past week, amid the daily (and hourly) reports of an imminent attack by Iran and its proxy Hezbollah.
These are indeed the days between – a waiting game of nerves and for many, a period of hunkering down. Every decision this week has been colored by different factors – how long will I be on the road? Where is the nearest shelter? How far away will I be from my family? The least messy solution has been to simply stay close to home.
Deliberations, deliberations. Tel Aviv is allegedly the epicenter target for Tehran’s wrath, the symbol of Israel’s vibrancy and achievements. Should I be going into the proverbial eye of the storm, not to mention the vulnerability of being 60-minutes plus on the open roads each way to and from Jerusalem?
The answer, according to some in my family, is ‘no, have you lost your mind?’ Why tempt fate? And what’s this obsession with the Grateful Dead (but that’s another story for another time).
On the other hand, being scared and canceling plans plays right into the psychological warfare of our enemies. What better response than to get out and ‘shake them bones’ and celebrate life?
Of course, the joyous occasion falls during the three weeks of mourning which culminates in next week’s Tisha Be’Av, commemorating all the tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people throughout its history. Within the nine days preceding Tisha Be’Av, attending musical events is off limits – another type of ‘days between’ synchronicity that religiously observant Deadheads who would have liked to participate are all too aware of. At least their decision on whether to attend has already been made for them.
As of this writing on Thursday afternoon, my jury was still out. Throw caution to the wind and head to Tel Aviv for an adventure into the unknown, or scuttle the plans and watch Monk reruns in the cozy confines of the home berth, a few steps away from fortified shelter?
It’s a dilemma, not only about one night of revelry, but of a lifetime, and one only sharpened by the pervading threat hanging over us from those who this week continued their threats to annihilate the Jewish state.
Regardless of what choice was made, the voice in my head was of Jerry Garcia singing the lyrics of his songwriting partner Robert Hunter: ‘Cat on a tin roof, dogs in a pile: Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile.’