Jerusalemites of note

Unregulated and sometimes facing adverse conditions, Jerusalem’s street musicians make a tidy sum while adding to the cultural fabric of the city.

By GAVRIEL FISKE
A guitar band performs on Ben-Yehuda Street. (photo credit: GAVRIEL FISKE)
A guitar band performs on Ben-Yehuda Street.
(photo credit: GAVRIEL FISKE)
On any given day in downtown Jerusalem, especially when the weather is good, the street musicians are out and playing, providing a live soundtrack for the pedestrians going about their business in the bustling capital.
Dozens of regular players of all kinds ply the city’s public spaces, and while the average citizen may not acknowledge them or ever drop a few coins into an upturned hat, these buskers – the word comes from the Italian buscare, which means “to procure” or “gain” – can actually make decent money. For some, busking becomes a way of life and provides crucial income.
J., who immigrated from the former USSR more than 20 years ago, lives in Ma’aleh Adumim and often takes the bus into Jerusalem in the morning, where he spends a few hours playing his old-style accordion. A former teacher and performer in Russia, he says that he has resisted taking up teaching in Israel because “playing out here pays more.” J. (who prefers to not reveal his name) says that because “I am a professional,” he can earn up to NIS 300 for playing from one and a half to two hours, far beyond the NIS 40 to NIS 60 an hour that teaching music in a community center or conservatory typically pays.
Being “nearly 70” and without a car, J. rarely performs outside busking but is content with his lot.
“I won’t be a millionaire and won’t have all the money in the world, but I have a place to live, to sleep and have enough to eat,” he says.
He lives with his wife in a simple apartment, and their grown children have families of their own. He receives a small pension and with the additional income that busking provides, “We help our kids; they don’t help us,” he adds proudly.
Another regular performer is Rabbi S., who, like J., prefers that his real name not be used and also lives outside Jerusalem. He lives in the North with his wife and seven children, where he teaches Talmud at a yeshiva for the newly religious. But he comes to Jerusalem every week for a two- or three-day visit, staying with friends and playing in the streets.
A guitarist and singer, Rabbi S. says he changes his material all the time “because the crowd is so varied, you need to play all the styles.” Jerusalem “gives a different feeling… like a family, everyone together. In Jerusalem they are more connected to street players.
There are other places where they don’t understand,” he adds.
But there are problems sometimes, Rabbi S.
says. Unlike some cities in Europe or the US where performers are registered and have organized locations to ply their craft, Jerusalem doesn’t support street performers, he alleges, saying that even when playing quietly, “people who don’t like music” have called the police on him “many times,” forcing him to move his spot or pay a fine, often enough to wipe out a day’s earnings or more.
“In other countries, you get permission to play in certain places at a certain volume, but here in this country it is impossible… this is the livelihood of people who don’t have other work and is part of the culture of the city,” he says.
Rabbi S., along with others interviewed, says that using amplification, often necessary to be heard above the din of the city, can lead to complaints about noise, even if the volume is within legal limits.
Another common complaint is the need to stake out a certain “pitch” – busker terminology for a spot to play – which can sometimes lead to conflict with other street performers, as some locations are more lucrative than others.
In response to In Jerusalem, the Jerusalem city hall spokesperson said that the city was currently looking into “a process to organize the activities of street musicians as part of the cultural experience of Jerusalem” and noted that municipal regulations do not permit making loud noise between the hours of 2 p.m.
and 4 p.m. and after 11 p.m.
Another issue street musicians deal with is the nature of the money they receive, which typically comes in large amounts of small coins – a hassle to deal with. The income also could be considered part of Israel’s large underground economy. The reluctance of J. and Rabbi S. to reveal their names perhaps stems from the gray nature of the gratuities that street performers receive.
Although a busker may seem little different from the people asking for charity that one regularly encounters in the streets of Jerusalem, the money that buskers collect could be subject to taxation and reporting like any income, unlike the donations received by those just asking for handouts.
In principle, any business income is subject to taxation, says Tax Authority spokesperson Iris Dor-On, but adds that “the question of whether the income of a street musician is considered business income must be examined individually.”
The authority has devised a list of criteria, based on frequency of performances, expertise and other factors, to determine if an individual street performer’s gratuities qualify as business income, she says. “The Tax Authority conducts, on a regular basis, random checks in every area to ensure reporting according to the law.”
No one interviewed reported problems or encounters with the taxman, however.
Of course, not everyone who takes to the streets is motivated by money. Some are music students, eager to practice and try out new ideas on a crowd, while others see how music can be a positive force in an often stressful urban environment.
Shaul Judelman, who is a rabbi and peace activist living in Tekoa, would for many years play his saxophone in the Mahaneh Yehuda market several times a week, usually alone but sometimes with a band.
“I started going out there during the second intifada, and I wanted to bring something positive to the shuk. It really was tense, and people were afraid to go there,” he says. Back then there were hardly any street performers, he notes, but “in the last 10 years, it has really taken off.”
Because Jerusalem is a tourist town and because “in general, Israelis, Jewish people give charity, people here aren’t embarrassed to put down shekels,” he says, but notes that the money, although “surprisingly lucrative,” was less important than making a connection to people and bringing good energy to the streets. “The old ladies would always give a shekel; I think they appreciated it so much. It is always interesting, the little one-shekel pieces, they are worth more in a way,” he says.
Unlike Rabbi S., Judelman says he never had problems with the police, only with vendors in the market, who would sometimes be bothered by his music and engage in “shouting or shoving matches” to try to get him to move his location.
Playing in the street is “good pocket money,” says guitarist and singer Shy Ashkenazi, who during the summer goes out several times a week. He stresses that the real value is that “it’s a stage where I meet real people and get real feedback and try out new material… I enjoy doing it, but the money is a bonus, that’s all.”
Ashkenazi, who “has always loved street musicians” and is working on an album, which he plans to sell in the street, says that busking “is wonderful” because it enables him to become more connected to regular people such as the vendors and others who work in the areas where he performs.
“It is the best when people say, ‘I don’t have money’ but give me something, such as drawings, candies, beer, hot chocolate or a note [of appreciation],” he says with a smile.