In the building of the book "Apartment for Rent" written by Leah Goldberg, a total of five satisfied neighbors lived. There were no problems between them. They all expanded and built housing units that destroyed the building's infrastructure, scattered endless carts at the entrance, and when the sewer collapsed from excess wet wipes during the holidays, they all pursed their lips at the house committee, genuinely wondering why it was asking them to contribute to the 500 shekels that the plumber demanded.
A healthy and happy life.
But then, one day, the fifth-floor tenant chooses to leave. Mr. Mouse, I guess. "He packed his things and left. No one is going anywhere, and why.".
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Typical behavior of a cold, calculating, and above all, smart Lithuanian. I need to go and let everyone get along. What am I an admissions committee? What am I amnesty? And even if I may quote Mr. Mouse: "No one knows why? Sure. Maybe it's because of you, Rabbi Naftali, that the water in the gutter of the balcony you expanded without permission lands straight into my filthy yard? It's true that you promised to fix it, but that was when Goldknopf was still a favorite of the public. And maybe, and I'm just speculating without mentioning any names, that once a month there's no hot water because the boilers are freaking out about the two housing units you added? Not to mention the vegetable carts loaded with tools from Berger David, who was convinced that the tiny lobby was actually a warehouse. His.".
But Mr. Mouse didn't speak. He just quickly left, and they say he opened an inn in Marrakech. The neighbors who remained put a nail above the door and put a sign on the wall: Apartment for rent.
""New tenants are coming along the paths and roads. The neighbors, the tenants are welcoming them.".
And here comes the genius of Leah Goldberg. Generations of children and tired parents have read the story and described the ugly behavior of the potential tenants. The ant doesn't want the fat hen, the pig can't stand black people, the nightingale has a hard time facing the squirrel who cracks nuts, and the rabbit didn't want the cuckoo.
The chicken was offended, the parents say in a sad voice. The cuckoo was offended, the kindergarten teacher cries and manages to shed a tear for the 720th time, the squirrel was offended, the actress screams in the children's play.
But I, if I may, dare to ask:
And maybe the problem is you? Or maybe you are incapable of changing? Your questions, 'Do you like the apartment?' 'Are the rooms nice?' 'Is the kitchen nice?' are annoying.
You are completely disconnected from reality and then wonder if the real estate left by Mr. Mouse the Genius is 'nice to us'. That's right, it's your building and you are the homeowners. But you don't realize how idiotic you sound.
The chicken, for example, eats all day and is unable to walk. Have you ever seen yourself in the mirror, if you even have one that is capable of covering a tennis court? The ant that doesn't want to sit with it is of course perceived as arrogant, belonging to the elite, and not respecting those who are different. But maybe, dear chicken, it's time to shut up a little and not eat as if your life depended on it? Maybe in the end, the fact that you are fat and require more frequent and more expensive medical care is a burden on the public purse? Did you ever think about that before you shoved another Doritos in your mouth?
And the cuckoo is offended that the rabbit doesn't go crazy over your children growing up in other people's nests. Sorry, but this arrangement where you give birth to children and then arrange for a sucker to raise them at his own expense doesn't really make you want to live next door.
The Nightingale arrives, and the maddening monologue of 'The Handsome Room, The Pleasant Kitchen' plays again, and he, gently, respectfully, and quietly explains to the group of dogmatists in front of him that living next to a squirrel that never stops cracking nuts is no fun.
Just imagine. The nightingale returned from a performance at Heichal Menorah. 12,000 people came to hear him, and guests like Hanan Ben Ari and Vishai Ribo also arrived. He returns home exhausted, the noise of the speakers and the screams of the audience still ringing in his ears - and all he wants is to sit on the balcony with a beer and look out at the sea. But then, at about 3:00 in the morning, the silent squirrel starts cracking its nuts. Madness. Hello, public space, respect for others, recognition of the needs of others? The squirrel doesn't even understand what we're talking about. She's used to cracking and having everyone jump.
But the main thing: "The squirrel was offended and the nightingale left.".
The pig is exceptional. He is a racist. A racist of the lowest kind. He is the son of white people and he is unable to live next to a black cat. Why? Because she is black and he is white. He did not examine her character, what she believes, and how she behaves in her daily life. He succumbed to stereotypes.
How can I justify your behavior? You remember that my doctorate is on racism, and I've published maybe two hundred articles on the subject. I'll lose my doctorate and also be expelled from the media. Hey, I need to make a living too. Happily, I discovered that with the pig, no one was offended. Check me out. In this place it is said that: "All the neighbors say to him in unison: Go away, pig, it's not nice or proper for us either.".
To teach you that racism is ultimately condemned. Yes, Moshe Gafni, I'm talking to you.
Then the dove arrived. Ostensibly a symbol of peace. She declares that she will live with all the neighbors in peace and tranquility, "and in the tower they live to this day, good neighbors, peaceful lives.".
Really?
I'm not sure, and forgive me, Leah.
The dove declared that the rooms are as narrow as in the ghetto, the kitchen is as cramped as in South Tel Aviv, and the hallway is as dark as hell. But what, the neighbors are good in her eyes. The chicken, the cuckoo, the cat, the squirrel, she finds something good in each one. Except that it's nice for small talk while mingling at the Mandel Institute. It gets completely messy after a week of living together.
The chicken is nice until she destroys the buffet at every event, the cuckoo is beautiful but less so when she demands that the pigeon babysit the children for the hundredth time, say from 7:00 PM to 7:00 PM the next day, and then again because she has to go out for something urgent. And the squirrel lives a cheerful life, that's true, I don't deny it, it would just be nice if they were mainly in the Negev. Not in my building at 6:00 AM.
But then it turns out that the dove actually fits the crazy concept: "The dove rented the apartment, and every day she is bustling around in her room.".
Did you think that you were the only ones selfish? That you were the only ones who didn't see the other person. Here's the deal. Anyone who has experienced this, and realized that even iron 'pigeon repellents' are worth you know why, has difficulty seeing this bird as a symbol of kindness, and also understands something else. The pigeon really fits the group of impersonal people in the building.
So what have we learned? That living together is seen as nice, good, peaceful, and peaceful. But that's only in stories.
In reality, we are dealing with a group of individuals who are unable to reduce their personal needs to a minimum for others, and mostly play them innocent: pleasure? The handsome ones?
And I say: Leave me alone with your offers and your nice real estate, go celebrate with your friends, and the country will go to hell.
