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Felix Lupa > Born in 1972 in Ukraine, he currently teaches Street Photography in several leading photography schools in Tel Aviv, where he lives.
[ Felix Lupa on PRIVATE 47: Israel ]

Neveh Shaanan, a little old quarter not more than 10 minutes’ drive from the centre of Tel Aviv, has become a modern Tower of Babel. Within its few little streets it is host to a large population of all origins and sorts: work migrants from Africa, East Europe, Russia, Turkey, China, The Philippines, to name but a few; refugees from South Sudan, Eritrea and other African countries. They live there, and in adjacent quarters, in tiny rented apartments, or come to do their shopping, eat and drink with friends, and look for sex, intermingling with Israelis, mostly poor, fringe people, as well as homeless, drug addicts and alcoholics who find shelter in the quarter’s many derelict houses, and with prostitutes of various origins who practice their profession in order to support their drug habit, sometimes living with their pimps/drug pushers. The old quarter which is destined by the municipality’s plans to become a fashionable quarter of tall apartment and office houses, is being gradually demolished, house by house. But in the meantime its mixed people go on living side by side, living the day and not knowing what will bring the morrow.

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Nitzan Hafner is an independent photojournalist based in Tel Aviv. Cover issues in Israel and around the world.

Living at the Bottom
I first met Cheli three years ago on Arlinger St, the first time I was  wandering around the old bus station area in Tel-Aviv.
Cheli is wobbling, staggering, walking some steps on the pavement and then some down on the road, and when she sees me, she starts to sing. She’s moving in my direction and when the distance between us shortens, she turns to me and asks if I wanted her services. I insist that I don’t. She thinks I’m bargaining.
The old bus station area and the streets around it are a human mosaic of rejected types of society; prostitutes, junkies and drug hubs alongside homeless people and foreign workers. The buildings, constructed ninety years ago, are now falling apart, the stench of urine is pungent, garbage is strewn all over the streets and violence is in abundance. The police often raids, charging into buildings in search of drugs, and this February it announced a “cleanup” operation in attempt to eradicate crime in this area. An unsuccessful endeavor, it appears.
I know that at least once in her life Cheli joined a rehab program, but she ran away as soon as she had the chance, straight into the unwelcoming arms of the old station.
She leans on me and barely manages to warm up the test tube, she starts to cry, asking “Why do I deserve this?” and…”God help me…”. Her sobbing turns to screaming and the scream mixes with tears.