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Stairways to heaven By Avner Bernheimer Tags: israel news A few weeks ago, for this column, I went back to peruse my family photo albums. It was great; the pictures of my childhood really didn't take me aback. I was an extremely sweet child. I stuck out thanks to my seriousness and the clothes my mother sewed for me, using patterns from a sewing magazine from abroad - like pants made of plaid cloth, along with all sorts of satin outfits. I assume the other children were extremely jealous of me and my fabulous wardrobe. I mean, who doesn't want to be Mommy's little prince? But kindergarten is one thing. The photos in which I'm featured wandering the streets of 1970s Petah Tikva in aristocratic Austro-Hungarian clothes now look like works of art. "The tension between the boy's aspiration to loftiness on one hand, and the rather worldly neighborhoods in which he passes his time, wearing a three-piece corduroy and satin suit on the other hand, paint a sorrowful portrait of the souls who had once frequented the halls of classical Europe, only to find themselves against the backdrop of housing projects." Or something like that. Through the pictures, I can "stroll" around the Petah Tikva of those days, before the construction of Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava's modest pedestrian bridge, now suspended above Jabotinsky Street and connecting the mall and the hospital. In the photos, not a single city structure strays from the overriding theme of functionalist dullness. There's the zoo; I am seen trying to climb the zebra cage. There is the equivalent of "Desperado Square"; I am feeding pigeons among beggars and elderly people, standing on a gravelly surface full of bird droppings. The City Hall plaza, with its fountain, is off to the side of the frame; I am sitting on the steps and selling used schoolbooks. Advertisement Almost all of the pictures are close-ups, because there's obviously nothing to see in the background - nothing of architectural worth, over which children can marvel and say, "One day, I'll be a smart man and I'll be able to build a building like that. Maybe I was also destined for greatness." It's sad, but that wasn't a thought that dared to cross the mind of a child from the projects of Petah Tivka, whose world was as narrow as that of an ant. And then I started to venture out of the city, and my eyes were opened. The Shrine of the Book at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem thrilled me to no end. The excitement that gripped me as I stood in the building housing the Dead Sea Scrolls provoked the realization that it's possible to rise above provincial mediocrity. I had a similar experience when I first entered the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. I remember a sudden shift in awareness, from the profane to the holy, a feeling of awe associated with a personal encounter with modern art, and reverence for a life of intellect and culture. Not to mention the visit to Tel Aviv's Shalom Tower, my first skyscraper, which prompted me to tell my parents, "I'm touching the sky." And here I am on my bar-mitzvah trip. Thirteen years old, my first time abroad, the first picture that's not a close-up. I'm standing in front of the Acropolis, the seat of the gods. My imagination worked overtime there; the Greek myths my mother had read to me seemed to hover above the massive columns. The exciting celebration of literature and architecture shook the sensibilities of the boy-from-Petah-Tikva, and I remember feeling that horizons were being opened, like the breathing passages of a baby at birth. My second trip abroad was at the age of 15, to Rome. In pictures, I'm standing with my mouth agape in front of the Colosseum, the Pantheon and the fountains that Ariel Hirschfeld wrote about in a wonderful book. Age 16, Paris. The Eiffel Tower and the Pompidou Center are at my fingertips. I spent hours at both, rendered ecstatic by the genius and the innovation. Later, after the army, came New York. The Guggenheim, the Twin Towers, the Empire State Building, the Seagram Building. As someone who grew up between two wars and in the shadow of the settlement enterprise - my friends moved one by one to Ariel and Oranit to live in Swiss villas that resembled houses I had built from Lego - I was pleased to discover there were other options. My wealthy aunt from Manhattan didn't understand me. She remembered Petah Tikva of the '70s and '80s as lovely and innocent. To her, Calatrava's bridge seemed to be stuck there like a piece of unnecessary jewelry. "Why do you need it? And it's so expensive," she would complain. She was in love with the concept of housing projects - not that she would have lived there. When I would hear her praising poverty, I'd have to restrain myself from arguing with her, since she would always bring me presents. But the heart of that child from Petah Tikva did become furious. Yes, I know the arguments against the wastefulness of architectural works that deviate from the aesthetics of housing projects in cities in Israel's peripheral areas. But those arguments are as faulty as assertions that gourmet restaurants are responsible for world hunger. And they're condescending. You'll hear them only from those who have improved their own lot, live in wealthy cities and travel the world to places with delightful architectural treasures that provide mind-broadening experiences. Life isn't all gravel, schnitzel and mashed potatoes. You also need some intellect and culture, and even boys from Petah Tikva, Be'er Sheva and Umm al-Fahm deserve to discover that. My friend Ruth interviewed teenage Ethiopian girls from Yavneh for an article she published in a well-respected British journal about their community's cultural center in Yavneh, designed by architect Ilan Pivko. The girls spoke about how proud they were of the fact that the most attractive building in the city belonged to them. Such a community center, which makes you feel like you're worth something, may not come from the public education budget allocated to the periphery, but it can still contribute to feelings of self-worth for a young boy from Petah Tikva, especially the one wandering around in Austro-Hungarian finery in Desperado Square. He also deserves, as do the children of Giza, Bilbao and Yavneh, to discover at a young age, and not just from the Internet or television, that life has more to offer than tenements - to society as a whole, but also to him in particular. I am going to have my picture taken next to Calatrava's footbridge. Bookmark to del.icio.us   A ringing endorsement Jimmy Carter says Obama will waste no time in pursuing Middle East peace. Peres' olive branch Israel's president says the Arab peace plan is an opening for progress.

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