Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts

Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Gaby and Tikwah: The sequel

Gaby and his better half, or lonely half, were again on the telly and here I am again writing a review albeit a bit late. If this is to become a biannual event I should perhaps produce a template to adapt to the theme of their appearance. Served up last time was a discussion on the alliterative topic of farting with phylacteries while this time we got the rhyming Two Jews on a Cruise, though at times it felt more like Jews on some Booze.

Thankfully we were spared Gaby's lectures on Judaism and instead we got Gaby the hoarder, Gaby the curious, Gaby the Tehilim reciter, though only with a crowd round him, which is probably how most rabbis operate, and even Gaby the husher but at a towel origami course rather than in shul during shomne esre when Gaby is not particularly renown for his silence. As unlikely as it may sound, we even got Gaby the conciliator faithfully 'mirroring' his wife as if it's the new 614th commandment but then bolting as soon as the session was over and his figurative therapy harness unbuckled.

Overall the impression we got was of a somewhat mismatched couple who despite the odds had found a spark of some kind to keep them together. He curious, energetic, boisterous and cantankerous while all she wants is a partner to care for her and remain quite literally at her side. I dare say she is not the first wife to make such complains though probably only few have to deal with husbands who rip hangers out of suitcases and lie on the bed because 'it's her job' while his presumably is to put his feet up and watch. And yet they did hold hands which is not something we in Stamford Hill often get to do (kissing, however, was reserved for the mezuza and cuddles, according to Gaby, ‘are nothing’) and he also bought her a vase though judging by her reaction this was not a common occurrence.

There were some genuine jaw-dropping moments too. You just couldn't make up Tikwah's 'Zeus? Juice? What's Zeus? Ich ken im nisht'. And while 'shkoiech farn endikn' is regularly heard round here where we must endure bores who cannot shut up in front of a mic they barely know how to hold, as 'Thank you for stopping' it came across fresh and sharp especially when uttered towards a coach guide not en route to a simche or chasidic graveside .

There were plenty of other snippets which gave us an insight not only into the life of Gaby and his missus but also into the world they, or we, come from and which went beyond the clichés of wigs, the 'beauty' of Shabbos, side locks and prams and kids, kids and more kids. Gaby's pre-departure obsessive checking of doors and windows followed by what seemed like dozens of kisses blown at the mezuza was revealing of the security we attach to our homes and our fear of infiltration by outsiders which in turn explains our obsession if not fascination with burglaries and geneives, discussions of which one hardly gets out of earshot.

Like many a yeshive bochur settling into his airplane seat or yungerman arriving at his hotel room or holiday cottage, Gaby too made a beeline for the TV on walking into the rather shabby cabin, though let's face it few of us would have stayed on at a cabaret while the cameras were rolling. Gaby's preference for a concrete city over the tour guide's love of olive trees was as good an explanation as any for the planning problems we have round here. Following Tikwah on her own into bed with a turban while her husband went off exploring (‘for a new girlfriend?’ Tikwah quipped at one point) may have highlighted her loneliness but it also gave a good idea what our womenfolk look like when the wigs come off, and it wasn't terribly appealing.

It was moving to hear them both discuss the loss of his mother when he was born but what was missing and would have been of keen interest was how this match was brought about. Was it a case of a hyperactive, orphaned bochur being told by the matchmakers that his only solution was to go for a girl from non-heimish Holland called Tikwah? It would certainly have shed more light than a dozen light bulbs stuck in Gaby's fridge on frum Jews, their couplings, marriage and dare I say love, or the lack of it. It would have also contrasted with some of the better matched couples on the cruise who were no less Jewish than Gaby, one even left his rabbi an answerphone message with a shale, yet the women didn't walk the boat purring like lost cats in search of their husbands.

Like it or not while Gaby may be something of a caricature his domestic arrangements are not at all as atypical as some would like to make out. In fact their setup is probably a lot better than many couples round here locked into far worse arrangements which for a multitude of reasons did not unravel at a younger age and which they are now helpless to get out of. As to Gaby himself, his child-like curiosity is not too dissimilar to the gawking adults and kids that assemble round here at the slightest commotion. The price we pay for an education denied in childhood is precisely this curiosity that a lifetime of staring cannot sate.

Gaby's conviction that anyone not enjoying the spectacular Balkan mountain scenery 'must be lying' also betrays a worldview in which 'normal' opinions must be universally held. Indeed his critics who accuse him of attention seeking, one of the most heinous crimes in our 'don't stand out' society, adhere to that very same school of thought in which being of a view is not good enough unless you have persuaded yourself that others 'really' think likewise but  simply have their own reasons for pretending to disagree.

At which point it is useful to deal with the local critique which says more about the reviewers than the reviewed and how deeply uncomfortable we are in our own skins. For the most part it was the predictable trashing of TV culture and how the joke is on them rather than on us. 'Shows you the standard of the BBC that they air this rubbish,' was how one put it. Many wondered why this programme would be of interest to the wider public as if it's everyday we come across a couple like this and were at the same time uncomfortable at the specimen they chose to exhibit our way of life. This was closely followed by how meshuge Gaby is, 'And she? Just ask Chaim...' which in turn leads to, 'They only show this kind of yid because they know that deep down this is what people want to see about us.' And from there it's only a short route to the most juicy discussion of the lot.

'You know what he got for it? Over £50,000.'

'So he's not even so mad, after all.'

'Nah, it was £25,000.'

'Yes, but what about the price of the cruise?'

This particular debate ended with, 'Are you really telling me he hasn't been on a holiday for 40 years?'

'This I believe. I tell you, you don't know Gaby.'

Thursday, 2 June 2011

What a holy mess!

If previously we've been in a lather this time we're truly up in arms. We have been nothing short of defamed and slandered and turned from people of the book to people of the crook. And all under the guise of love and marriage.

Ok, let's calm down. For a start why was the programme even called A Hasidic Guide to Love and Marriage? Do they not know that round here Love and Marriage don't quite go together like a horse and carriage? For a start horses have been banned and more to the point because that would be putting the cart before the horse. We Chasidim don't fall in love and maybe tarry, maybe marry and probably call the whole thing off. We marry first, what’s sure is sure, and then maybe fall in love. Or maybe not. Either way we get to the other end of life just like everyone else so does it really matter which route we take? It's like going to Manchester on the A1 and not via the M6.

What?! You go that way? Are you meshige? You know how long it takes? It's much quicker on the M6. It takes about 3 hours that way. What are you talking about, 3 hours? I do it in 2 and a half easily and my brother in law...

Ok, ok, we're not starting on that. Next we'll be debating the quickest way to Heathrow so let's just get back to love. If we don't fall in love, well then she eats salad in the kitchen and he bites his nails while trying not to release hot air with his phylacteries on and yet we still have kids and marry them off on a reference of someone who lives down the road, round the corner on the left, and we then die like everyone else. So big deal if we haven't loved along the way. It's not as if life and death depends on it. Like still going to Heathrow through Shepherd's Bush...

Right, from now on we make no detours and we stick to the holy mess. In truth this programme was never going to be a fair representation for some because come to think of it for those who complain nothing will ever be fair unless it's drooling in tears and schmaltz with 'look how wonderful we are' scrawled all over it. You know a bit like the Tribune and the Hamodia. They never get those type of complaints because they of course capture us to a tee and portray us just as we are. No warts and no blemishes unless a huge amount of money is required to get the blemished free from incarceration in Japan. In which case they are presented as being immersed while in jail in Torah and Worship and queues of pious young men start forming at the Japanese embassy for a visa. That however is a different matter and I did say we're sticking to the point though it doesn't really count as a detour since jail was very much part of the script.

You see if ever proof was required for the maxim that the strength of one's opinion is in inverse proportion to one's knowledge of a subject then the discussion in Stamford Hill of the programme was it. 'We have been slandered', one person who hadn't seen the programme told me. Someone else said, “they'd never do that to the Muslims.” I politely enquired how many hours a week he spends at his non-existent television and he retorted, “me volt shoin gehert,” we would have heard already.

It's not just the content of the programme upon which our army of latent reviewers turned their fire, they also knew the effect it would have on the viewers. “They’re going to think we're all like that”, was a common complaint, which was in turn laughed off with, “they hate us anyway.” In one debate someone piped up, “I actually spoke to a goy who thought it was a marvellous programme” which drew a response of, “How many goyim do you know? I know ten goyim and they all thought it was disgusting.”

“And, meshige, did he really have to show in front of the camera that he's got £2,000 in cash? What will they make of that?” I mean they guy's been done for money laundering for goodness sake. Do they really think you launder copper coins in little bags like a newsagent holding up the queue in the bank? “I hear they each received £25,000” and so the conversation turns to the '000s reportedly received by those who made an appearance which inevitably ends with someone exclaiming, “So, why didn't they ask me?”

Even this is nothing compared to the reaction in our press. Do spare a thought for the poor 'rabbi' who feels terribly hard done by having to view a programme on Stamford Hill without himself weighing in. It’s almost like watching the FA final without a ball in sight. In the JC he thought that the programme “took advantage of vulnerable people and it exploited them. It's disgraceful. Now nobody will go in front of a camera again.” Does that include the 'rabbi'? Hallelujah! And please not in front of a digital voice recorder either and not even a ring-bound notepad.

I'm not really being fair because he does care for the 'vulnerable' thought it's difficult to figure out who he is referring to. Gaby Lock, vulnerable? A maverick, certainly. Nutty as a fruitcake, more than likely. But vulnerable? Let the 'rabbi' put himself up for debate with Gaby and we'll soon see who is the more vulnerable of the two. I don't think one would call Avi Bressler vulnerable either even if he sets the Shabbos table in his rather appealing boxers. Their only vulnerability I can think of is if they were to have the misfortune of applying to have their child admitted to one of 'his' schools. Vulnerable indeed.

Then there was Alex Strom who after an intro that the Tribune is not the place to review a TV programme went on to do just that because people have "heard and read" about the programme. Yeah, and smelt it too. Strom's bombastic conclusion was that "it is totally unacceptable for individuals to make themselves available to all and sundry and take upon themselves the responsibility to speak on our behalf. This is especially true if it involves allowing camera crews to explore a world that they cannot and are not meant to understand."

That is fine except that we all know who they are who purport to speak on our behalf and they do not include anyone on the programme who spoke for no one but themselves. In truth, what troubles Strom and the 'rabbi' is that these people are talking at all. As far as they are concerned our role is to doff our hats at authority and let it do the talking on our behalf. They of course would present a true picture. That shiduchim work a dream. All you do is stand in a queue and everyone gets their turn at wearing a shtreimel and sheitel. Ok, a Dutch girl called Tikwah might end up with Gaby Lock, a Yemenite girl to a boy with a divorced, jailbird of a father and the next son if he's lucky may end up with an Israeli girl wrung out of some match maker. But still it does work.

Notice too how we are a world that "cannot and was not meant to be understood." Which world is that exactly? The world which according to Gaby is run by the most arcane of rules while himself he is incapable of a routine of 3 meals a day? Where the men go off to Uman while the women are left to peep from behind the screen? Where the men sing round the table and the women stay in the kitchen? Where a match is decided on the length of the jacket and rim of the hat? Only the cold hearted bigwigs could fail to be moved by the pain etched on Avi's face as he spoke about his loveless marriage of 16 years and recounted the loss of his father when he was seven and that there is only a single photo of them together. Mind you, Avi's mum knew better than to marry another Gerer misogynist and second time round went for a full bodied masculine type. So at least we know whom Avi takes after.

Prize for understatement of the week must however go to Rabbi Dr Irving Jacobs who in the JC said the programme echoed Nazi newspaper Der Stuermer's antisemitic caricatures. Phew! What next? Is refusal of a place at a local school like the Nuremberg laws? The rip-off cost of meat like medieval Jew taxes? It is interesting though that the non-Jewish newspapers gave the programme generally good reviews but “Yeah, don’t be so naive, that’s only what they say in public…”

Truth said I do have some issues. A fiddler on the roof may have been too great a cliché, but why a cat? As pleasant as the klezmer background music may have been they haven’t been listening to it round here for some 50 years or so but great job they didn’t have on some of the stuff we do listen to. And why was the beginning in those faded colours similar to the films my aunt has of us as kids some 35 odd years ago?

Overall however we should celebrate a programme that ignored the anodyne world of our machers and oppressors and instead showed the fringe world of Ginger, Bradley and Shimmy Goldstein welcoming visitors with as much nosh he could get past the airport scales without paying for overweight. It is a world that many pretend does not exist. A world that is growing in numbers and in confidence. And a world that couldn’t give a toss for the ‘rabbi’, Strom and their ilk and it is this that really worries them.

Let’s be proud that only Stamford Hill has the vibrancy and multitude of characters to fill an hour of viewing. They’d never get this off the ground in Golders Green for they don’t do humour at Reb Chunes where they’re too busy expelling the ex-Stamford Hillers looking for greener pastures in NW. Of course they’re also too straight to harbour any jailbirds but let’s not go down that route because I did say I’ll stick to the point.