Big City, Little Tel Aviv Tel Aviv Melody Lynley Lys The Mediterranean sea murmurs its subtle verses and the clinging sand, no counter of miles or hours, sticks to foot sole, rock and water. This narrow stretch of shore meanders south to Jaffa. Inland, cross the street to the city, where any alleyway may lead you to spring parks blooming, a nature trail mere strides from the freeway, or a tiny synagogue where voices chant Sephardic cadences of lyrics from a time long ago. There used to be a verb to walk down this street: 'lidzengoff'-- to see and be seen; 'dizengoff'-- to stroll the avenues, cut a swath across the metropolis, pass the trendy boutiques, wedding gown displays, the multi-tiered mall, crepes, juice stalls, pizza, synchronized leaping water fountains. The whole motley collage of scents, colors, sounds. And now to Shuk ha-Carmel, where sellers in stalls offer books, shirts, eclectica. Then over to Shenkin, the hip fashion center. I walk here only seeing, being seen. To Tel Aviv should be a verb: to be called to this city, to hear its voices ceaselessly, 'letelaviv'-- to live only within its gates. Oh Tel Aviv, I hear your clear melody. It reaches me even here in California. And it is no mere matter of clicking ruby heels together: you fulfill no American Dream. Your call comes as alarm. I know your dangers; they are not few. Yet at your word I am ready to leave behind all I know just to 'lidzengoff' within your walls, 'letelaviv.' (Lynley Lys is a senior in Comparative Literature at UC-Berkeley. Her work has been published in various magazines, including Road of Shadows, Cal Literary Arts Magazine, Sparks, and The Body Inside. When not studying Russian or Hebrew literature, she can be found walking around Berkeley or traveling in Israel. This is her first contribution to the magazine.)