The Limited Times

Now you can see non-English news...

"Wait, wait, you'll hear from Nissim Seroussi" | Israel Hayom

2023-06-30T10:48:27.496Z

Highlights: Even at the age of 75, Nissim Seroussi's unique, powerful and clear voice rises and dives as he speaks back to his life. The young boy who immigrated from Tunisia with big dreams and turned himself into a star out of nothing, crashed like a shooting star in the Israeli sky, on the altar of one interview with Yaron London. He still lives the insult, but after almost 50 years of exile in Paris, he returns to Israel and hopes for a plot twist.


Even at the age of 75, Nissim Seroussi's unique, powerful and clear voice rises and dives as he speaks back to his life • The young boy who immigrated from Tunisia with big dreams and turned himself into a star out of nothing, crashed like a shooting star in the Israeli sky, on the altar of one interview with Yaron London • "They made me feel that I was not like them, not from the Berenger, I realized that I had nothing to do here", He still lives the insult, but after almost 50 years of exile in Paris, he returns to Israel and hopes for a plot twist • "Of course I'll make music," he promises, "I've always done things my way."


"Between us? I felt like I was rubbish. They made me feel like I wasn't a person like them. That I'm not from their barangay, not from their friends, not from their territory or from this place at all. I understood – there's nothing I can do here."

Everyone knows something about Nissim Seroussi. Some remember the piercing cry "I can't...", others remember hair, cheek wigs and paddle pants, the majority, including her star from "Main Jackpot", remember "Illusions". And most of all, he remembers that mythological Zubor interview with Yaron London. But the sequence is always fragmented.
He was interviewed quite a bit during the years he lived in Paris, almost every time he came to visit his homeland he was covered by one of the media, but his story was always torn apart like random pages ripped from the book, parts of the whole, forgotten flashes from the 70s.

If the insult had a voice, it was Nissim Seroussi's voice when he remembered. At the age of 75, Seroussi's distinctive voice, high, powerful and clear, rises and dives as he speaks back to his life. 50 years after the events themselves, the full spectrum of his story can be seen.

A plot that begins with a young boy with big dreams who immigrates from Tunisia and becomes a star who created himself out of nothing, only to crash like a shooting star in the Israeli sky. "You're a cultural hero," I tell him at the end of the interview, "it's time for your story to be told as it is."

Piyutim and rock and roll

"I was born in 1948, in Sfax, Tunisia, to a family with ten brothers and sisters," he tells me when he's in Paris, on suitcases, as they say.

"As a young boy, they heard my voice and said, 'There's something to do with it.' At the beginning of elementary school, Dad decided that my future would be a cantor in the synagogue, and I certainly contributed my talent by curling prayer poems on Shabbat and holidays. Everyone decided unanimously: 'The little one big will be,' and of course they intended me to be a cantor as my father wanted.

"My studies in Tunisia with Rabbi Victor Bhai Eyed were Torah, prayers and liturgy. That's where my pure poetic side was born. But I had birds in my head. Between the hymns 'God shall grow up alive' and 'Our Father is our King' came other thoughts."

Thoughts from what sound?

"I listened a lot to Farid al-Atrash and um Kulthum, and Raul Journo, a Tunisian Jewish singer. At the Bnei Akiva branch I learned Hebrew songs, and in the streets I learned Arabic, French and rock. It enriched my repertoire. It's good not to be closed off on a certain repertoire, so I sang piyutim in synagogue, Zionist songs at school, and was hired to sing popular songs at parties and events. I was born for it, as they say. When I was 16, we immigrated to Israel."

Was there any trigger that pushed for aliyah?

"What do you mean?" Seroussi is surprised by the question. "We immigrated because every Jew aspires to immigrate to Israel, that's how our mind was back then. We had the Jewish side, and when I was a kid, I didn't decide either. My father decided, so we came to Israel and fell on the streets, by luck."

And how do you fit into the country?

"At first I'm doing fine, I'm starting to get along in terms of singing and have to decide what language to sing."

Was it clear to you that you were going for a music career in the new country, and in a new language?

"Sure, I have a talent for languages. I have always sung in many languages - French, Arabic, English, Italian, and Hebrew. So here in Israel, too, I sang at chapels, parties, clubs. I made a living from it even before the army, but it wasn't just making a living, it was fun too."

And then it's time for you to join the army, auditioning "like everyone else" for a military band?

"I asked, but they didn't accept me. They told me in the army: 'Are you dreaming? What about you and a military band?' I told them, 'I can contribute a lot. I sing, I'm a singer, I have experience,' but it wasn't my barangay, they didn't even want to hear me. Luckily, I proved to everyone that I was above everyone else. Above all else only in terms of singing and love of the audience, of course."

Seroussi is quick to qualify, so that God forbid he will not be perceived as arrogant. "I had a kind of tough upper force, from the inside, I just wanted it and that's it, nothing will help. I went for it despite everything. A few years later, I was already performing for soldiers in the army a lot. I wanted to show that nothing belongs to the other side alone.

"I, a young man from Tunisia who wasn't good enough for a military band, perform for the soldiers and they are enthusiastic about my music. They didn't understand what they had in their hands, and when they asked me to come sing to them, what I proved was that it was their loss."

And yet, even 50 years later, I still hear the insult in your voice.

"Of course I was offended, they didn't want me. I was offended – and yet I kept fighting. But I still feel this discrimination today. You can't forget that they just didn't want you, and they didn't want you just because you're Tunisian in Israel, not 'Israeli.'

"In the morning I was a carpenter and in the evening I went to sing." Nissim Seroussi in Paris, this week, photo: Laurent Benhamou

"You won't be a singer here because you're not from 'our people,' and what are you doing here at all and why are you bothering us with your songs. So I promised myself that I would prove. I've said it a million times, I have no limits, especially my strong desire, and I'll show you - and I've proven to everyone that I can sing and be a singer."

Where did he serve in the army?

"I was in N.M., but I continued to perform at soldiers' nights and on weekends."

On one occasion, Seroussi was caught performing without permission and sent to Prison 6, where he began writing songs in Hebrew. After about a year in the army, his father was injured in a work accident, and he was required to support his family and was discharged from the service due to a "discrepancy", but he did not give up on his dream.

"When I finished the army, I went for singing with all my might," he recalls, "although if you remember, until 1973 there weren't really singers from Morocco, Algeria or Tunisia who succeeded in Israel.

"I played in clubs with bands like The Tigers and The Goldfingers, it was like my home. They had the Hall of Culture, I had the Calypso in Ramle. I was the star of the club not only in Calypso, I performed in clubs all over the country. In the Krayot, for example, there were many clubs back then."

"The clubs were full." Seroussi in concert, photo: Coco

Off the charts

Seroussi did something that most of his clubbing friends were not doing at the time - he wrote and composed two original songs - 'I Can't' and 'Mother'. The songs were arranged by Yaron Gershovsky, who later became a big star in the world and music director of the band Manhattan Transfer. In 1973, he released the songs on a floppy disk, and they almost immediately became a success.

I never understood exactly how you broke through. How did people know you? Where were you heard? Radio?

"I've never been on the charts before!" he cried out. "Apart from Abie Nathan's voice of peace, the radio in Israel was not open to the Spaniards. At that time, anyone who wanted to hear real Israeli music didn't hear it on state radio, they had to be in clubs. "I Can't" and "Mom," which everyone knows and had hits all over the world, were not on this chart.

"I went to the radio, I tried, I made very big wars until I reached the decision makers. When we met, I asked them, 'Why don't you play?' They told me it was sub-level. They told me inside, 'You're singing garbage, these are garbage songs.' I replied, 'You'll see that this 'garbage' is very good.'"

This memory perhaps opens a window into the unfamiliar part of Seroussi's story, the part where the insult becomes a driving force – rather than a pretext for whining. Others, at this point, gave up. They decided to make do with what they still had and continued to perform in clubs and weddings.

Seroussi, who was not accepted into a military band that was rolled out by the major radio stations and record companies, decided to start a record company and a production and concert office. In today's terms - an independent label, and maybe more than that.

The idea was to create a large musical and production platform outside the powerful cultural establishment, and he even called it by the symbolic name "Israeli Artists." In fact, it is a model of producing and distributing an alternative music industry.

"Yes," he admits, "all this was done to get what they didn't give me. For what Kaveret and Arik Einstein got for free, I had to fight and pay with my own money. It's important for me to say, I've never regretted that they succeeded, I'm sorry that I didn't. So I fought for it and paid for it, all so they would know me and know that I could too. All this time I was lucky: every song I put out was a stamp, a hit."

"No record company? I'll start a record company." Seroussi's album covers over the years,

But you weren't heard, so how did you become a hit without radio and television, and certainly without YouTube and social media?

"I was in the air. I was heard in all the clubs, discos, shops, cafes, the sea. People sing you in the street. Everywhere I went, I heard my songs, everywhere except on the radio and television. It was a culture war between the radio and the street, between the journalists and the rest of the people. It means 'sub-level,' and it means 'great music.'"

"I went to radio, I made very big wars until I reached the decision makers. When we met, I asked them, 'Why don't you play?' and they told me it was sub-level. They told me inside, 'You're singing garbage, these are garbage songs.' I replied, 'You'll see that this 'garbage' is very good.'"




Didn't you feel that you needed the stamp of the establishment, even on the image level? Feel "legitimate"?

"Look, I never said 'Seroussi is Beethoven,' but I understood that you need both Beethoven and Seroussi in the world. For people to hear both his records and mine. That's all I wanted. So when I realized I had no other way, I built everything I didn't have with my own hands. No record company? I'll start a record company. That's how I put out my own songs on the first record."

And you also called it the "Song Parade." I understand why you started the record company for yourself, but why did you decide to release albums for other artists in a similar situation to yours? For artists such as Gabi Shoshan, Avi Toledano, Dudu Elharrar, Moshe Hillel, the High Voices Band from Ramla.

"Because sometimes when you're very hungry, you want to eat more than others. We did a lot of things and projects because I wanted to show them that I could. Look at how many hits Shoshan had from that album. 'Sixteen Years Old,' 'Genesis,' 'Little Girl.'"

And where does the money for all this come from?

"In the morning I was a carpenter and in the evening I went to sing. To this day I really like wood and the smell of wood. Besides, I also needed a framework and a steady livelihood. The clubs did their thing, they made a living, not a big deal like today, but they made a living. We would perform at the club, and at the end of the show we would earn 300 liras a night. That's what I picked everything up from. If you want, you do what needs to be done."

"'Illusions' spoke the truth"

At this point, Seroussi is 25 years old. The radio, as already mentioned, does not play him, the television does not broadcast him, but on the street and in the clubs he is a star. He has a record company, and Heaton prints posters of him.

חוץ ממודל ההפקה וההפצה שלו, הוא גם מציג כמעט לראשונה בתרבות הפופולרית בישראל מודל של כוכב שצומח מהשטח, מלמטה, לא "הוצנח" אל ההמונים על ידי הממסד דרך הלהקות הצבאיות ובחירת העורכים ברדיו ובטלוויזיה.

תסביר לי איך מכל ההצלחה הזו נולד השיר הידוע ביותר שלך, "אשליות", שמתאר דווקא חיים כמעט הפוכים מחייך.

"זה שיר שנולד מבן אדם שרוצה הכל ואין לו כלום. בן אדם שרוצה את כל העולם ואין לו מה לאכול. הפזמונאי דוד חלפון, שבמשך השנים כתב שירים לאמנים רבים, נתן לי טקסט ואמר: 'ניסים, אני יודע שאתה נלחם. זה טקסט שיכול להיות טוב בשבילך, על המלחמה שלך'.

"בשיר הזה לא רצינו להשיג דברים באמצעות גניבה או משהו אחר, דיברנו רק על צדק. את מה שלא היה לנו. אף פעם לא רצינו שום דבר פרט לאפשרות לקבל, בצדק, לפחות את האפשרות להיות כמו כולם. היינו תמימים".

מה שמפליא הוא שלמרות המצב הקשה באותן השנים, יש כל כך מעט שירי מחאה של יוצרים יוצאי ארצות האסלאם. למעשה, לפניך יש את רק "לשכת עבודה" של ג'ו עמר ואחריך, הרבה מאוד שנים, אין כלום. הבנת שזה יהיה "שיר המחאה" של החיים שלך?

"לא ידעתי שזה יהיה השיר של החיים שלי. כשאתה צעיר כל דבר יכול להיות 'השיר של החיים שלך'. כשאני כותב שיר אני חושב בראש איך הקצב יעבוד, איך שרים או רוקדים אותו. אבל כן, ידעתי שזה שיר מיוחד. אנחנו חיינו את המילים של השירים שלנו לפני כולם. מה זה 'לגור בדירת פאר'? זה שיר מחאה, אבל זה לא שיר על רצון למיליון דולר. תבין, אתה לא יכול לעבוד בנגרייה ולהגיד 'שלום, באתי להיות מיליונר'. זה שיר מחאה על הרצון להיות מיליונר, אבל לא כבעל הכסף, אלא כמי שהוא בראש של הכל, מי שיש לו כוח".

כלומר, האשליות שעליהן אתה מדבר בשיר הן לא רק אשליות חומריות, אלא אשליות ביחס למערכת. הייתם מודעים אז למאבק של הפנתרים השחורים?

"פוליטיקה לא היתה בכלל בראש שלי. אני הבנתי שמה שאתה יכול להגיד בשיר זה הרבה יותר נחמד מאשר בוויכוחים ובנשק, ושבסופו של דבר זה גם חודר עמוק יותר פנימה. אנשים ראו את 'אשליות' כשיר מחאה של חייהם, ולכן שמעו אתו בכל מקום מבוקר עד לילה, חוץ מברדיו".

"מה זה 'לגור בדירת פאר'? זה שיר מחאה, אבל זה לא שיר על רצון למיליון דולר. תבין, אתה לא יכול לעבוד בנגרייה ולהגיד 'שלום, באתי להיות מיליונר'. זה שיר מחאה על הרצון להיות מיליונר, אבל לא כבעל הכסף, אלא כמי שיש לו כוח"




אבל גם הצליל של "אשליות" מיוחד, זה לא מה שקראו מוזיקת "סן רמו". הגיטרות בהתחלה מאוד כבדות ומעוותות, יש לשיר הזה צליל דוקר, שמבקש לזעזעז הרים, לערער על הסדר הקיים.

"'אשליות' דיבר אמת, אמר את מה שאנחנו רוצים ונלחמים בשבילו. רצינו שזה יהיה שיר של מחר ,לא של אתמול, כי את האתמול כבר שרנו מספיק, יותר מדי".

מה קורה אחרי שיוצא האלבום הראשון שלך?

"בשנים 1975-1974 היתה הצלחה מטורפת. פוסטרים שלי, הופעות מפוצצות, מועדונים מלאים, הקהל הכפיל את עצמו. היינו נוסעים להופעות בכל הארץ ובכל מקום היו מחכים לנו ולא נותנים לנו ללכת. מעריצים, מעריצות, זו היתה חוויה מצוינת.

"אבל גם אז, אני עדיין נלחם בכולם בשביל להגיע לרדיו ולטלוויזיה. הם המשיכו לחסום אותי הרבה זמן. סתם חסמו, בשבילם כל המוזיקה שלי היתה תת־רמה. הם לא נתנו לשירים האלה שום ערך".

משרד ההפקות פורח, סרוסי מתחיל להשקיע בכתיבת המוזיקה לסרט "יום הדין" של ג'ורג' עובדיה, ואז, במה שנראה כשיא ההצלחה המקצועית והמסחרית, מגיעה סוף־סוף ההזמנה לבוא לטלוויזיה.

"כן, באתי לתוכנית 'טנדו' של ירון לונדון", נזכר סרוסי באירוע שרודף אותו כל חייו - ונשמע שחוק וטעון בו בזמן. "זו היתה הפעם הראשונה שהזמינו אותי לטלוויזיה. הם אמרו לי 'אתה בחור שמעניין אותנו, אתה מצליח, זה גימיק. משום מקום קם בחור, לא מוכר, ועושה הרבה רעש'.

"מבחינתי, ברגע שהם הבינו את זה, הבנתי שסוף־סוף מכירים במה שאני עושה, שמבינים אותי. זה היה מאוד חשוב לי. אז באתי לטלוויזיה וחשבתי שהולכים לתת לי עוגות, לעשות לי חינה", הוא צוחק במרירות, "באתי לבוש יפה ומטופח ומצאתי מולי צבא…"

הלונדון שלפני פריז

הראיון המיתולוגי ההוא של סרוסי לירון לונדון הוא תעלומה גלויה. מצד אחד, רגע מכונן בתרבות הישראלית, נקודת ארכימדית שאחריה הדברים ישתנו כליל. מצד שני, מדובר באגדה "ראשומונית" שכזו, שבה כל צד מספר סיפור אחר לחלוטין על מה שאירע. עד היום, אגב, לא נמצא עותק של הראיון הזה.

"הם מחקו אותו בכוונה", אומר סרוסי, "שלא יישאר זכר. דווקא התוכנית הזו לא נמצאת בארכיון רשות השידור. איכשהו, תוכנית אחרות של 'טנדו' - שרדו".

מערכון, מוצלח מאוד, של התוכנית "ניקוי ראש", שודר בזמן אמת כפרודיה על הראיון ההוא. גם העובדה שמדובר בתוכנית סאטירה לא מצליחה לטשטש את הסטירה שחילופי המילים הותירו בתודעה הישראלית.

ירון לונדון, משוחק בידי דובי גל, מזלזל בסרוסי, המגולם בידי שבתאי קונורטי, שוב ושוב. על מוצאו, גובהו, חוסר יופיו, ועל יכולותיו הדלות כמוזיקאי, ככותב וכזמר. הזחיחות וההתנשאות שבה מתייחס המראיין למרואיין מאתגרות את המושג סאטירה, והצופה נותר עם תהייה מה פה בדיוק הפרודיה ביחס למציאות, המתגלה מבעד לסדקים במלוא כיעורה.

כדי לסיים את האירוע עם צחוק בצד, בסוף המערכון המראיין מתמלא קנאה בהצלחת המרואיין עם נשים. גם הוא רוצה קצת מההצלחה הזו. "מה הן מוצאות בך?" הוא שואל בתסכול מעליב, לפני שעוברים הלאה.

Although the original interview has no trace, other than memoirs, it does have a Wikipedia article, references in academic articles and references in a variety of cultural programs and films. All these testify to what an enormous impression he left in the public consciousness.

Decades after the interview, London was interviewed on Yes's "Chorus House" program and described the event as follows: "I heard 'I Can't,' the lyrics and the music, and it was very obnoxious to me, I must say. I asked, is it songs? Is it text? It's just crappy words, very sentimental. I said to Nissim seriously - 'Say, in your ears is it good?' he said - 'It's great, what's wrong with that?'

"Later, after the recording, I asked him, 'Did you feel good about my questions?' and he said, 'On the kipak, I put you in, and that's it. That's great.' The next day, 1,000 letters. It is quite clear that I was perceived as the educated, rich, established, hegemonic, privileged Ashkenazi, and he as the Moroccan, but there is not a single word of truth in that!"

"What does he have to ask for forgiveness and what do I have to forgive him?" Right: Seroussi in the London and Kirshenbaum studio about a decade ago, photo: screenshot from Channel 10

Seroussi, who, by the way, was interviewed again by London about a decade ago, this time on the program "London and Kirnbaum," fills in the holes in the interviewer's memoirs: "From the first moment in Tendo, I felt that he patronized me. Says to me, 'Is it music? Why do you think you deserve this?'

"It was confusing, it was insulting, and the cameras were filming. I told him I didn't want them to let me, it came alone. That success follows actions, and once it's caught you can't stop it. Then he continued, 'You can't say you're a pretty guy, you're not the king of beauty.'

"I always answered him from below, and went upstairs. My answers were small and costly. I told him: 'There are things that people don't know what they are. A kind of magical grace that you don't know where it comes from.' After all, what is a singer? A singer is a voice. Not money, not beauty, it's magic that adds to beauty."

When the cameras didn't work, small talk was also created?

"What does he have to talk to me? It's exactly the same gimmick thing. He had the opportunity to bring the enormous thing that he had to bring, everything that happened and was about to happen, and he didn't bring it! I wanted to get out of there with something, even small, tiny, but..."

How did you feel when you left the studio?

"I don't remember exactly what I came out with. As far as I was concerned, I made a good plan, I felt that I had brought myself and what was not in the market musically. But I also felt misunderstood. I'll admit, I didn't understand what happened. Only later did I feel the whole balloon explode. I was walking outside and people were saying, 'Look at how that guy came down on you on TV, how do you show such a sub-level, what did you let him get down on you?'

"On the other hand, I also knew that if you hit a poor cat who didn't do anything to you and you saw it on TV, everyone would be in the cat's favor. Inside it echoed everything we talked about from the beginning. I tried to prove to him that I was a much better singer than many singers on the market who had a place on the radio, and that I wasn't ashamed of what I was doing. On the contrary, I'm happy with my music, I'm proud of it. And he...", Seroussi raises his hands in puzzlement and drops them.

So let's close it. Over the years you have given different answers, did you leave the country because of the interview with London?

"It's not the only reason, but the interview brought it, yes, of course. I was hurt. I had a million stories to tell about discrimination here and at the same time a lot of possibilities in Paris, so I left."

"No strength to fight again"

At the age of 27, with his professional career of only five years, Seroussi decides to leave. After the interview with Yaron London, on the eve of Independence Day of that year, 1975, he sang Ilan Goldhirsh's "Private Song" at the Song Festival, and won first place with the words "But my song is a private song, it does not march in any chart".

"For what Kaveret and Arik Einstein got for free, I had to fight and pay with my own money. It's important for me to say, I've never regretted that they succeeded, I'm sorry that I didn't. So I fought for it and paid for it, all so they would know me and know that I could too."




"The disappointment was great," he recalls. "I put my foot down from my career in Israel. My wife was French, I had a young daughter, we all wanted to succeed like Mike Brant, so I went to Paris – and it's hard to compete in Israel when you don't live there."

What are you actually doing there, musically.

"In France, I continued to perform for Israelis and people from all over the world, with my own songs and other people's songs. I wasn't a star like in Israel, but I had my audience. I made a living from music. I had a store and a record company and we distributed things that came out in Israel. I also released some songs in French, but no albums. Honestly, the great fun of it went down to me. I came to a new market and I just didn't have the strength to fight again, to start all over again."

And all following that interview...

"Yes. But look, I think positive and in the end it turned out for the better as well. To this day we talk about it, almost 50 years later, it shows how significant it was."

Over the years, several attempts have been made to forgive you. As far as you are concerned, London asked for forgiveness?

"What does he have to ask for forgiveness and what do I have to forgive him? I went to the studio for another interview, 40 years after that interview, and as far as he was concerned, London had made no mistake. He was tough and came in strong about it - and that's all. He took advantage of the fact that he had experience in television and for him it was 'important' to know who I was at all. But I think he knows that to this day he is neither forgiven nor forgotten. He told me this once – wherever he goes, they talk to him about Nissim Seroussi."

"Their success - mine too"

In 1975, when that interview aired, three important albums were released, which were the first markers of the rise of Mizrahi music in Israel. Ahuva Ozeri's debut albums, Sounds of the Vineyard and Sounds of Oud, which celebrate its jubilee with a festive show on July 9 at the Hall of Culture in Rehovot, in which Yizhar Cohen, Boaz Sharabi, Zion Golan and Seroussi are expected to participate.

This year he also received the Israel Prize, and it seems that there is finally acceptance of the music created by immigrants from Islamic countries in Israel, but you, I ask him, are left between the worlds of rhythm bands that were mostly immigrants from Islamic countries, and the music of the caste underground that came right after you. How did you feel when you saw them bursting into Israeli consciousness?

"I felt that their success was also my success. I was one of the first to sow this music, I put the frills in, but I have no jealousy or resentment towards anyone. Everyone who succeeded - well done to him.

"I grew up with Tunisian music and Arabic music that I knew well, but I never made really Arabic music, or 'Oriental music' of Kol Israel, that is, the Arabic music created in Israel. I've always loved music from all worlds, but I wanted to tell my story, and that's what I did in music. I was a little San Remo, a little rock and roll, a little soul music. Shlomi Shabbat used to come to my performances in clubs, and when they broke out I followed the sounds of oud, palmetto, Zohar Argov and Haim Moshe, I loved it. I even produced an album in memory of Zohar Argov. Listen, they found what they were looking for, and I'm happy for them."

What brings you to close things in France and return to Israel?

"My daughter grew up, got married and lives in Israel, and I'm coming back because I miss the country. My mother is missing, my friends are missing."

Are you also going to go back to making music? And if so, in which direction this time?

"Of course I'll make music. I've always done things on my own terms and in my own way and I'm happy that way. I make music that comes out of the heart. Wait, wait, you will still hear and 'suffer' from miracles Seroussi."

Wrong? We'll fix it! If you find a mistake in the article, please share with us

Source: israelhayom

All news articles on 2023-06-30

Similar news:

Trends 24h

Latest

© Communities 2019 - Privacy

The information on this site is from external sources that are not under our control.
The inclusion of any links does not necessarily imply a recommendation or endorse the views expressed within them.