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Noam Horev: "Live once!" | Israel today

2020-04-02T10:39:39.149Z


"The world has become a movie accompanied by an apocalyptic soundtrack. You know when this story will end, and we can enjoy life" • Short story book


"The world has become a Hollywood movie, accompanied by an apocalyptic soundtrack. You will know when this story will end, when we can enjoy life."

  • YOLO. Illustration

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Friday.

4:00 AM.

I can not fall asleep.

My nights became days.

Days to nights.

And I turned into an unspoken sweating monster, having lunch at six in the morning and doing a turn-off-the-lights at home at five in the morning.

I slip out of bed carefully, trying not to make awkward gestures and waking my life, my partner, who sleeps like a baby after Greeps (a great trait he has acquired in the military - falling asleep anywhere. Anytime. Any state of mind).

I sit on the porch and light a cigarette (people's proportions, a global plague raging, which is not what will kill me right now).

Usually at this hour, we hear a loud drunken procession under our porch. They come back from a party, or they are on their way to a party, or they are having a party, and they splash Tel Aviv youth straight into our living room (I admit, sometimes the noisy drunkards are actually us).

But today the street is frozen.

There are no parties, and no drunks, and no youthful spirit.

Just a street lamp stuttering and flickering like our certainty in recent times.

I look at the moon and come back a month and something back.

The same balcony, the same moon, and so many other days.

Amazing how much can change a month.

Haimekha tried to convince me that it was a great time to fly.

The corona then sounded to us like an annoying, hysterical aunt from abroad who would never really jump in to visit.

I, as always, had difficulties: "What about the money? We were a little overkill this year. We've just bought an i-robot! Hutsamza, I promised my mom we were coming to Afula next Friday. she will kill me".

Haimekha looked at me. He thought a little and then pulled out the doomsday weapon without hesitation: "Whoa, HFa!"

I stepped on the spot.

When he uses the card, I know he is serious.

Can't remember exactly when he came into our life, this FIFA.

It feels like he's always been with us.

Here, here, I explain -

HFA = life once.

It is required to be used as an argument, when you want to do something spontaneous, fun, extravagant, delusional, or one that contravenes all the rules of logic, and the person in front of you cannot convince.

Then, and only then, you are allowed to pull out the card.

And what does he actually say, this FIFA?

He says go free. Flow. Tskill. Tomorrow may come a nuclear holocaust or natural disaster or the unification of the Spice Girles.

Tomorrow you can walk down the street and suddenly a piano or a bus will crash on you (God knows we don't have that here either).

I, for example, usually use HFA to persuade friends to go to a party with me on Friday when they have fun with the family the next day or an important day at work.

You have to know how to use it, in this FIFA. Don't wear it, don't sell it cheaply, don't pull it off as an argument for everything (yosh, wanna come with me tomorrow for a movie? What not ?! HAPPY!)

Indeed, over the years we have known him, he has served us well. He always knew how to prevent us from becoming rational hassles and tilting the spoon to the less conformist side of life.

But with how much I love this FIFA, and with what I believe in, and with what I have used to persuade or persuade, I have to admit -

Whenever I came across it during my life, I doubted it.

I couldn't believe him.

I murmured behind his back: "Well, it comes down to doing adventures on me, playing with my head, and he's like sex on the beach - good in theory but unbearable in practice."

Because I always said to myself - "Well, what's the chance? What are the chances that tomorrow I will suffocate Bamba Nougat and die? Or will you function us an earthquake and paralyze the whole earth? Or will you break out of a global epidemic and shut us down for months? "

What's the chance ?!

So it turns out that this little chance, this nil, one-half of this million, is alive and well, and now exists before our eyes.

She was hired.

It all started with some bat making Batman look like a seventh-century hero.

And here we become, small and unimportant.

Dust in the wind.

The garlic peel.

IPhone Cover.

And there is nothing we can do or say. Not to take to the streets with signs, not to take off the sign, not to flee abroad. Nada. Sit back at home, put alcohol on and leave.

Suddenly I realize how lucky we are. How lucky we are to have this HFA come to life, flying us abroad, taking us to parties, sending us to waste restaurants, and pushing us to run to the sea without clothes in the middle of the night, driving us up north just to see sunrise, and slipping us to bed In the tents in the desert, giving us a kick in the ass every time we said, "Well, we have another sea of ​​time to enjoy, stroll, dance, get drunk, have sex, dive in and exhaust every moment of this fucking life!"

So it is, that we do not have.

Right for a moment and for a very long time - we're freezing.

The entire world has become a high-budget Hollywood movie, accompanied by apocalyptic soundtracks and dramatic close-ups of doctors in masks. Only this time the pen is not in the screenwriter's hands and it is impossible to build on a happy Hollywood style ending that will send people home from bots.

Go and know when this whole story will end, when we can leave home, how much money we will have left to enjoy life, and how long it will take for us to fix and pay the price.

So I found myself going back to all the nonsense we did and saying "What luck!"

What luck we didn't stop enjoying. We didn't deal with accounting and notebooking all the time. We didn't do tables for and against. That we sometimes went against healthy logic. We ordered another dessert. We flew to Vikand, that way spontaneously. We went out in the middle of the night plowing Tel Aviv on foot (and did some more things that the page would not absorb).

Good luck, because this corona is a piece of alarm clock.

How fragile everything is.

How little control we have.

God, some plans I have for the coming year.

Everything I thought I had engraved on the stone was written, it turns out, on a wipe board.

And here I am, 36, sitting with sweatshirt and kippy shoes on the porch, the streets below me still, a corona-like fire raging outside, and I suddenly realize that all those worn-out clichés are about squeezing life, about making plans while God laughs, about lemonade and the number of times your breath is taken - They are actually ... correct.

And my head explodes with thoughts, flashing highways of uncertainty - where's all this going? When will it end? Will humanity change or are we already immutable? What will be the conclusions? Is there a lesson here or is it a New Age scramble? How do we ever get out of this blow? And why the hell did I have toast at five in the morning?

And out of this endless chaos, a new certainty is born. Clean, complete. The certainty in the uncertainty.

I don't know anything.

I never knew.

Probably I won't know either.

And the outgoing worker is to take this HF and hug him. What is it to hug, to crack his ribs like an oriental mother with hugs.

Don't underestimate him.

Don't doubt it.

Not to say, "Enough is not going to happen." Because here it is. This is the moment of truth. The moment when all the freefalls in the world raise their oxygenated heads, send a finger and filter: "We told you!"

So there, on the balcony at five in the morning, I sign an agreement between myself and myself (I am the worst at breaking such agreements) - Here I, Noam Horev of Afula, 36, the son of Ora Haananan and Amiram of Parliament in Aroma, hereby undertake to live life to the full and extort Their mother-to-mother. Like there is no work in the morning. As if there were no calories. As if there is no tomorrow.

My phone is flashing like crazy. Infinite news updates.

About to form a government. And as with any story - there are good ones, there are bad ones, there are losers and gainers - it all depends on where you look.

The debate over winter time continues, only this time no one cares about losing sleep. We have too much of that, thank you very much.

And masks. And medical teams. And adherence. And a grandson who sang to Grandma under the porch.

The sun is already throwing orange rays into the sky. I don't care about her, no plague, she shines.

A man with a dog goes for a walk. The most non-trivial play I have ever seen.

And here's the soundtrack of some birds chirping.

The world, as is customary, is thrown into this all-out routine.

The creak of the porch door throws me back to reality.

Khaimka, wrapped in a blanket, sits next to me.

"Let's go back to bed," he recruits his most convincing voice.

"I don't deserve to sleep," I raise my most resolute voice.

"So what do you want?", He looks up to follow the man with the dog from below.

"Pita-pizza," I throw in the air and remain silent.

"Pita-pizza ?! But five o'clock in the morning !!! ', he tightens the blanket around me.

I dig into it and whisper, "So what if five in the morning ?? HEF, from whom. FIFA.

Noam Horev, the ACUM Prize winner, wrote countless hits for various artists, a children's book called "Ziona Has One Wing" that also became a theater show, and he holds writing workshops. His book "Draft of Happiness", which collects poems and personal lyrics, deals with family, Israeli love and being. Noam lives with his partner, Haim, in Tel Aviv.

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Source: israelhayom

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