Art and the Masses

Written By: Dahn Ben-Amotz

At the very last moment, we received a report from our man in Jerusalem this week, and we hasten to pass it along without comment:

Whenever someone from Tel Aviv or Haifa comes to Jerusalem to fix an import license, he goes back saying that Jerusalem is the city of the dead. There's something to it, although Hadassah is doing its best. And not only Hadassah. Cafe Vienna, for instance, made a noble effort last week to enliven the capital, and if it were up to me, I would write down the names of the owners, Mr. Berger and Mr. Novak, in golden letters in a platinum book. Cafe Vienna, as you know, is one of the oldest in Jerusalem. According to legend, the first High Commissioner, Sir Herbert Samuel, once drank a cup of tea in the cafe, but I'm not responsible for the truth of it. I still remember the days when Englishmen, Arabs and Jews used to go there to drink coffee with brown sugar and sing “Oh How Pleasant and Good To Sit Like Brothers Together."

Now, to get to the point. There was a cocktail party last week to celebrate the revolutionary changes wrought in the cafe, and everybody who was anybody was invited. For some reason, I was invited too. Having had some experience with such affairs, I didn't eat lunch, and at five o'clock sharp appeared at the cafe.

Place swarming with people. First night audience, newspapermen and that sort. I won't mention names as I can't hope to compete with Mira Avrech. Cut my way to the bar. Had two cognacs, opened eyes and hearing aid. Hear the buzz of the battery, conversations, gulping and munching.

Everybody around is attacking, as politely as possible, the food. Seems nobody had lunch. The place: two big rooms. In the middle of the first a counter and an Espresso steam engine. Around it cakes, sandwiches, cold drinks and a grill. Two chefs in high white caps grill hamburgers on an electric plate. Above the grill there is a copper chimney hood without a chimney. Just for looks. Hammered design on the copper hood of three fishes, one chicken, a two-headed ox and an animal with a human head. They are all on spits and they look delicious. Designed by Bezalel Schatz. The other room is a dining room, but just now drinks are being served, here. Well, here's to you. Yup. The left-hand wall is covered with a mural by the same Schatz. If I understand anything about painting then this must be an abstract surrealist fantasy, maybe. I spotted a pretty flying chicken, some two-legged creatures, a bottle and a quarter of a watermelon. The colours are very lively and stimulate the salivary glands. Rush like mad to eat four sandwiches and five cakes. Wash them down with cognac. Skol!

I'm full of admiration for the cafe owners. They are brave and courageous. Maybe they don't realize it, but they have solved a problem which has been hanging like a heavy cloud over the artistic world for the past century. The question was: To bring art down to the masses or the masses up to art? Cafe Vienna has found the answer. The masses who come here to eat and drink will be gently elevated by art. If you like modern art, fine. If you don't, bon appétit anyway.

I lose myself in the masses of merrymakers. People talk about food and colour. One woman says, “This is excellent," and there is no way of knowing what it is she is referring to. There are three people standing in a corner. One of them is talking about the painter. I start eavesdropping while I pretend to drink cognac. Why pretend? Why not drink? “These plastic lampshades on the wall were made by his sister, Zahara Schatz" says the man. “She's nice but he's wonderful. His name's Bezalel, but we call him Lilik Maybe because Bezalel sounds too much like Bezalel work. Olive-wood camels and green ashtrays. His father established the Bezalel School and the Museum. Lilik spent 13 years in America and he speaks the funniest Hebrew I ever heard. It's good and fast, like a native, but he uses words that haven't been used here for 15 years. He has a great appetite for everything good in life. He loves to eat, loves to work, loves to love, et cetera. You know, he once mixed a beautiful yellow that he loved so much he ate it and spent two months in a hospital." I cant's pretend to be drinking now cognac any longer. Refill the glass, skol it, bid adieu to the Cafe Vienna and sink to the level of the street.