ASHDOD
Express bus #320 goes directly to Ashdod from Tel Aviv (45min. every 20min.
WS13.80). From the bus station walk one block toward the beach and enter the building
with flags in front to get a free map of Ashdod from the information booth on the left.
RAGS TO RICHES
"The little princess," the mayor of Tel Aviv called her at the funeral, "from the poor neigh-
borhood." Then-Prime Minister Ehud Barak also weighed in: "Ofra emerged from the
Hatikvah slums to reach the peak of Israeli culture."
Ofra Haza, called the first lady of Israeli pop, died tragically of AIDS in 2000. She left a
legacy of musical accomplishment - successful recordings of her exquisite voice, inter-
national fame, a gamut of accolades - but she also left a society enduringly changed.
Haza, the daughter of Yemeni immigrants, had embodied an emerging version of the
Israeli dream, an ethnically loaded Cinderella story. Her introduction of muzika Mizra-
hit, the music of North Africa and the Middle East, into the mainstream of Israeli pop
was unprecedented in effect.
Centuries of Diaspora and exile have meant that Israel's Jewish population is split
between those of European descent and those of Middle Eastern and North African
countries, called Mizrahim or Sephardim. The latter suffered economic and cultural dis-
crimination in a country that trumpeted its welcoming of all Jews, and for decades after
the War of Independence, the Israeli musical canon mostly ignored their music. In the
last decade, however, largely spearheaded by pioneers like Haza, this music has tran-
scended its social stigma to become the new indigenous pop of Israel. Ofra Haza's big-
gest international hit was a song called "Im Nin Alu," which matched 80s-era dance
throbs with a wailing rendition of 17th century Rabbi Shalom Shabazi's devotional
poetry. The marginalized had become mainstream.
This progression continues in Israel today with the success of Sarit Hadad, whose
Mizrahi-pop amalgams have stormed the charts and made her Israel's most popular
singer. Though some members of the older generation still cannot listen to the lilting
Middle Eastern-inspired tunes without cringing, their children and grandchildren turn
up the radio to sing along with the proto-feminist track "Go Home, Motti." The song, in
which a disdainful woman throws out her no-good and possibly abusive lover, was
touted as an anthem of empowerment, played against traditional Israeli machismo.
Like Haza, who sang Israeli nationalist folk songs with a passion equal to that of her
Sephardic hymns, Hadad saw no difficulty in reconciling her Israeli identity with her
Mzrahi one. "Sarit Hadad is an Israeli singer," she said of herself. "I sing Israeli music,
but the motif is Mizrahi." The nation seemed agreed: like Ofra Haza before her, in 2002,
Hadad was chosen to represent Israel in the annual Eurovision song contest
Political controversy roiled the proceedings as European opposition to Israel's
actions in the Palestinian territories spurred massive boycotting of Israeli participation.
Still, even as Hadad represented a uniquely Israeli phenomenon, her ethnic ties to the
Middle East allowed her a rare crossover appeal in the face of stubborn resistance. In
fact, her fourth album was recorded in Arabic and released in Jordan. Despite the fact
that she doesn't actually speak the language, Hadad's Arab-language album, Al-Mutribe
min-Karmel (The Singer From the Carmel) convinced Jordanians that she was Palestin-
ian. It appeared that her music could serve as a bridge, not only between Jewish ethnic
groups in Israel, but between Arabs and Jews. "I hope to continue to record in Arabic
and appear in Arab countries in the future," she told a Eurovision press conference last
year, performing a song in Arabic. "I long for peace and I hope that this song will help us
achieve it."
Irin Carman, a native Israeli, writes about music for the Village Voice. Her writing has
also appeared in the New York Times and Ms. Magazine.