99% Invisible - 206- The White Elephant Of Tel Aviv

Episode Date: March 30, 2016

Israeli buses regularly make international headlines, be it for suicide bombings, fights over gender segregation, or clashes concerning Shabbat schedules. One particular ill-fated megastructure, however, has been at the nexus of various lesser-publicized conflicts: a building in Tel Aviv designed … Continue reading →

This is 99% Invisible. I'm Roman Mars. By all accounts, if you've ever taken a bus two or from Tel Aviv's new central bus station, you've never forgotten the experience. It's one of the most bizarre and magical and disgusting and enchanting places you can imagine. This is Mishiharman of the Radio Show and podcast Israel Story, talking about the unforgettable ramshackle, massive bus station known as the city under Aruf. It's dirty and smelly and feels depressing, deserted, but at the same time it's colorful and full of life.

The station houses vendors, foreign workers and refugees from all over the world. Philippi Host, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. Turn the corner, an old timer might drag you into the Netsach David synagogue, after which you can meander past tattoo parlors, churches, the free STD clinic, or train brides getting their hair braided, the Israeli Filipino matchmaking agency, fringe theater spaces, and end up at a giant Yiddish book library. For about 20 years until the year 2010, Tel Aviv's new central bus station was the largest in the world.

This is in a city whose population just barely reached 400,000 people during this time. The bus station is dizzying. In fact, it's almost impossible not to get lost there. All attempts at designing proper wayfinding have failed miserably. But what's probably most interesting about the new central bus station in Tel Aviv is that it's sort of a layered fossil of the history of Israel. If archaeologists were to excavate through the layers they'd find remnants of every phase in the short story of this state. From independence through post-war euphoria to recession and westernization,

they'd be able to trace the waves of immigration to Israel from Europe and North Africa. So in many ways the story of Tel Aviv's new central bus station is the story of Israel. And this story of Israel as told through this bus station is going to be told to us by a high metal from the brilliant radio program Israel story. ‫היא פרקרם ‫היא איזוייסטורי. ‫שום דבר אני לא אמרת ההנה. ‫שום דבר לא שווה. ‫היא איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איזו איז in Tel Aviv's new central bus station in the early 90s, even before it opened. He dreamt of eventually passing it on to his children. I bought it as an investment 20 years ago.

Now I'm stuck here. No matter what happens, I'm stuck. Pain taxes, utility bills, office fees, all suck me, call a tahana, this place ruined me. Elon's store has been closed for years because no one hangs out anymore at the far end of the fourth floor, where a huge supermarket used to stand. And Ilan is just one of hundreds of vendors who paid good money to purchase the store

here and who are today stuck with a property that's worth absolutely nothing. I met Ilan in a section of the station called the Ramlod Market on the third floor. He was moonlighting, selling baby clothes to aro train refugees at a friend's stall. Trying to make up for the lost income from his out of business shop. Most of the stalls around him are abandoned. Old newspapers are glued to the display windows of nearby storefronts. If you come close, you can make out headlines about the 2003 Columbia Space Shuttle disaster or the disengagement from Gaza in 2005. The ceilings are covered with black sot.

Board peddlers anxiously smoke cigarettes right underneath from the old sign that says no smoking. And the smell of nicotine blends into the stench of urine, sweat and diesel fuse. What can I say? It's depressing to hang out with the vendors of the Tachhanamir Kazitakhadashah. Tel Aviv's new central bus station. The structure itself is terribly confusing and that's no coincidence. It was designed to make people get lost.

The labyrinth, it was coined by the station's chief architect, Ram Karmie. And in a labyrinth, you get lost. You know how you get in, but you have no idea how you get out. Or even if you get out. רמקרמי. ולמרנט, שאתה נתקל. תתקל, שאתה נתקל, אבל שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל, או כמו שאתה נתקל. תקל, שאתה נתקל. אני אמרת, ואני אעשה את רמקרמי.

רמתה שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל. ואני אמרת, שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל, שאתה נתקל. imagine the central bastation as a city under a roof. So if it is a city under a roof, why shouldn't we get a little bit lost inside? So in order to help me get lost in and I don't know, slightly more organized fashion, I teamed up with an energetic architectural duo. Hi, I'm Talia, the Vidi.

My name is Alad that horn. I'm an architect from Israel. I'm an Israeli architect as well. And I'm currently a master student at the Architectural Association in London. I just graduated from master's school of design in Harvard and I've been investigating, researching the central bus station in Tel Aviv with Talia for many years now. The whole research of the central bus station started when we had to reorganize Ramkar MIS archive and while going through loads of dusty documents and plans we found

amazing materials dated from the 60s and 70s about the central bus station. We we knew the station pretty well even before and we knew what everybody thinks about the station and how complicated the building is. But then we saw these drawings and they were like really beautiful actually. The drawings are indeed beautiful, they're sweeping lines and huge glass skylights. But few people see much beauty in the building as it stands today. Talia and Elad are exceptions. It's really hard to describe it without getting lost in these weird dark alleys where you really don't have anybody around you. Almost half of it is underneath the street level, so it is dark, really dark actually and airless. In a way it's like a dark amusement park. You're actually afraid on one hand and on the other

hands having like the most exciting environment around you with people from all around the world, super colorful. I would say it's a multi-central place. It allows almost anything or everything to happen in it. The biggest question that we asked ourselves is what ran wrong actually. So we go there and try to find the answer for that. They took me around this magical, multisensual, dark amusement park of theirs. At some point they led me down to the abandoned first floor. Then up a narrow ramp and through a creaky side door, I looked around and realized we were in the lobby of a deserted movie theater. So we're actually 15 meters below ground level here in what was the Grand Cinema.

There were six movie theaters here with amazing names like John Wayne Everest, Gandhi. Even though it's been more than 15 years since the credits rolled on the last movie played here, the theaters are still in great shape. The walls are covered with posters of films like pop fiction and Titanic. The acoustics remain excellent, and the cushions of the red velvet seats are still pretty comfy.

This forgotten glamour is testimony to the big hopes the station embodied in its early days. The planner's original idea was that passengers would pop in and catch a movie as they waited for the bus. But that never happened, and the cinema closed down just a few years after it opened. Today as you can see, it's completely abandoned. Yep, that's it. Time stood still here. Let's see, time stood still here. The new central bus station opened its doors to the public in the summer of 1993. After nearly three decades of planning, it was shiny and new and exciting.

But then in just a few short years, it became the griniest place in town. So how does a place go from such splendor to such neglect in so short a period? Sharan Rothbals. I am an architect, writer, publisher and teacher who lives right near the station. 300 meters. Things that in order to answer this question, we need to go all the way back to the days before the establishment of Israel in 1948. the days before the establishment of Israel in 1948. We should talk about the land, the central bastation was built on, and Islam belonged to Arabs from Java,

it used to be an orange grove. Pinchas Abramov grew up on the outskirts of that grove. You remember it well? Aya Shama Yapar deshle Abid. Of course. It was called Abid's Grove. We used to sneak in underneath the fence, steal some oranges, and then run away.

Following the war of independence, most of these citrus groves in the area between Jaffa and Tel Aviv were abandoned, slashed, deserted, slashed, confiscated, depending on your political point of view. In any event, the state took over the land and Jews started moving in. Pinchas' homes stood exactly where the new central bus station is situated today.

A bite, Chile, a bite, mew, hug. My house was a special house right in the corner of Lovinsky Street, the second house from the corner. On the second floor, there was this big wall, chatt a mural of the sea of Galilee, with a fisherman fishing. Zaya Masha, Loma Olama, was really something. Pai Tepefe, beautiful house. What a house.

Masha. Initially, the government wanted to expand a nearby neighborhood by the name of Nevishanan, but as always the plans were delayed and installed until they were forgotten altogether. So instead of a brand new residential neighborhood, a favela of sorts started to develop there. A slum of tents, sheds, and warehouses. Meanwhile, in a better part of town, lived a man called Arge Pils. He was an immigrant coming from Poland in the 30s and he opened up Cafe Pils, which was a really famous coffee shop on the seaside of Tel Aviv.

Cafe Pils was the swankiest joint in town. Senior British officers came to relax over dry martinis. Elegant waiters in long tails in a bowtie would walk around serving cockovans, steak grenades, and in orchestra played the latest hits in the background. And as he spent his days sitting in his cafe, smoking his cigars, Peelts couldn't help notice the construction friends he's going on all around it. Pellet Viva's bursting with life by now. This is a promotional film from the late 50s. We 100,000 people arrive in our town every day.

Although Jerusalem is our capital, Pellet Viva is the center of industry. Once I saw a picture of New York, well, Tel Aviv is almost the same. Apart from the fact, of course, that we haven't got skyscrapers yet. Tel Aviv was humming, and PILTS, a tireless entrepreneur, spotted real estate opportunities everywhere. So he purchased the old orange grove, turned slum from the Jewish National Fund. But then there was the problem of the squatters, like pinjas. Pilzigia, Pilz showed up and wanted us out. Gratually he bought them all out, brought in tractors and raised the sheds to create one giant plot of land.

The location was an ideal. Across the street was Nevisha Nanah, a densely populated, low-income neighborhood. And in the middle of Nevisha Nanah stood Tel Aviv's main bus station, the old central bus station. Every day dozens and dozens of buses zigzag through the neighborhoods narrow streets and as often happens this contributed to the areas decline into a hub of crime and poverty. It was clear to the municipal planners that something wasn't working. They wanted to move the station to another place while they renovate and open up the old one. So PILTS who was a really clever guy just came up to the municipality and told them, wait a minute, why would you move the bastation and then bring it back? Just keep it where it is. Well, I will build

you a new one. And PILTS had big dreams. He was going to finance the building of the new bastation by making it part of a huge mall. It was meant to be the largest bus station in the world when it was conceived. Israel was still a small country, with a population of just over 2 million. So as you might imagine, lots of people thought the idea was absolutely insane. But Pilswitz was charismatic, and even more importantly, he knew all the right people. So he managed to persuade the folks at City Hall and with their approval he approached a 33 year old architect Ram Karmie. And Pilt said to him, Rami, build me a central bus station. Karmie's first proposal was relatively simple.

The idea was that the station's lower level would be similar to a train station in the sense that the buses would pass right through it. On top of that, they would build apartments, hotels, offices and in the center there would be a big park which would actually sit on the station's roof. From there on it only went downhill. Pretty quickly issues arose with Karmie's plan. Eggad and Dan, the two rival bus companies who had become stakeholders in the project, were furious when they realized they would have to share a floor.

Not a problem, said the developers. We'll put the bus companies on separate levels. Karmie had a brilliant idea, dividing the transportation between the first and the sixth floor. The Dan City buses would stop on the first floor, and Egghead's intercity buses would leave from a platform all the way up on the sixth floor. So passengers transferring from one to the other would have to go through the entire building and would spend good money in malls shops. Yeah, it seemed logical at this time. The idea of building a huge structure and mega structure

was very trendy at the time. And I'm coming and putting this idea to Israel. Pills in the meantime understood that the project was going to be much more expensive than he'd originally expected. So he said, Rami, we need more spaces which we can sell. And so in every subsequent design, Karmie submitted. The station grew bigger and bigger. By the sixth draft handed in in November 1967,

the blueprint had started to resemble the behemoth we know today. In fact, I remember Amit talking about the central bastation and saying that they wanted to build the largest bastation in the world. And they kept wondering why would anyone want to build a largest central bastation in such a small country. But this is exactly what happened. In the end, the new central bastation was designed to include eight floors for a total of 230 square meters or 57 acres, which is more or less two Empire State buildings together. By the time Pillscotal is building permits in

order, architectural styles around the world had begun to change. New wisdom had it that a few small-scale public transportation hubs were more efficient than one gigantic station, and besides there were enough examples to conclude that megastructures rarely functioned the, there were enough examples to conclude that megastructures rarely functioned the way they were originally intended to. On top of all that, Pills had other problems. He had bought out all the squatters, but the residents in the adjacent streets were a livid. Even though their neighborhood had never been particularly nice or upscale, they were concerned that the new station and all the increased bus traffic would depreciate the value of their apartments even more.

That they would end up living in a cloud of smoke and fumes. And as it turns out, they were right. This is Shula Keshet, a resident of the neighborhood. Can you imagine what it feels like to wake up to this terrifying, redling noise. And I wake up and this noise doesn't stop. You sit at home, you want to watch TV and you can't hear it. You want to talk with the family. You can't talk. It's a deafening noise.

Besides that, we have to shut the balconies because the people who go by in the buses can practically see what's going on inside our houses. I don't know if I can't hear it, but I can't hear it. It's awful. What can I tell you? I can't hear it. I can't hear it. Charable noise, all the time. That's Simchanasi, who still lives directly across from one of the bus exits

He was one of the residents who complained to Pils and well you can judge for yourself This is a recording from his living room window at 10 p.m No, no, no, no, no No central bus station should never have been built during the first place A new central bus station should never have been built during the first place. Absolutely not. But Pils was determined, and on December 14, 1967, six months after Israel tripled its size in the six-day war, the Minister of Transportation, the Mayor of Tel Aviv, and many other dignitaries, gathered at the edge of the Old Orange Grove and laid down the

cornerstone for amys' creation. It now felt like a huge country, a huge station seemed fitting. The hubris of building the world's largest bus station was in line with the general sense of post-war euphoria. In the months that followed, hundreds of workers dug foundations, laid rebar, poured in concrete, drilled and hammered, and all the while residents demonstrated outside. Peelts in the meantime was ready to move on to the second stage of his plan. He needed to sell the vast commercial space he was building. So he invited Jews from all over the world to come on and see the place and get a free

tour in Israel on him, sort of like Perthrite before Perthrite. And of course the grand finale of the trip would be a visit to the new central bus station, Pills' new project with the expectations that the visitors would buy a shop in the station. Peel's hope to tap into the overflowing Zionist sentiments that followed the six day war. And amazingly, he succeeded. Hundreds of people bought shops. Some of them took out loans. And others, like Mark Almog from France, sold their houses and made a liat.

We were promised a magnificent shop in a shopping center that the whole world would take pride in. Others, like Pinchas, whose house with the painting of the Sea of Galilee was demolished, to make way for the station, were given shops as some sort of compensation. I got 42 meters at the central bus station. They said this shop will be something, something great. It's important to bear in mind that PILT did not lease those shops as a mall developer wood today. He sold them as property. The owners registered the asset under their own names, just like buying an apartment.

Over the next six years as PILT sold more and more of his stores on paper, the massive building started taking shape. People were excited about it. Every few months there would be a headline in the papers saying something like, a city under a roof is coming to life, or the world's most high-tech bus station due to open. But then in 1973 came the Yom Kippel War War and with it a general nationwide recession. Kikarlivinsky, the contracting company, Pilsit set up to build and bankroll the project started faltering.

There was a shortage of concrete, problems with the workers unions and growing debt. Finally, in 1976, Pils filed for bankruptcy and the construction stopped altogether. By that time, the structure was already mostly built, a huge concrete skeleton in the middle of the city. Tillers grandma and grandpa all remember this place as the city's big white elephant. Now a saga of who should take responsibility for the fiasco erupted. Public commissions were established, but the blame game went on and so for 12 years, the miserable station has peeled some self-called it remained empty. Or almost empty.

A huge colony of bats made the building their home. Gradually it started to host those sorts of marginal parts of society. Sam Ligel Sam not so much. By the early 80s the station had already gained its notorious reputation. It served as an underground meeting point. Huge raves and rock and metal concerts to placement. Ah! Seba bachurok balay lahat gil malahat gil malahat gil malahat gil Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey Director Moldech Ayona bought the project from its creditors for a bargain price of $5 million. Once again you could hear the hustle and bustle of construction work in the empty concrete shell.

Ayona, like his predecessor, peels, knew the right people, like the then minister of transportation, Moshikatsav. When Katsav visited the site just a few months before it was supposed to open to the public, he said, I am certainly pleasantly surprised. And we, of course, will be happy to help you in any way to overcome bureaucratic obstacles. What Katzav was happy about was that Yona was delivering. The station was set to open more or less on schedule.

Most of the real estate had already been sold back in the PILT stays. So in order to make this financially viable, Yona had to build more and more and more. The huge station, like the very hungry caterpillar, just grew and grew. The total build-up area in the station is more than double the area that was authorized. מה למקפול ממש ימותר לבנות? תותו, בלתיים, במהר, זה שצייקים, שצייקים, שצייקים, שצייקים, שצייקים, שצייקים. זה שצוו. לואיירה רואה מפהלוווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווווו that tens of thousands of square meters that were built illegally without building permits or even organized plans. And they were also sold to people. And there's really nothing to do about that.

So what you're saying is that the new central bus station is the largest construction violation in the city. Baratz? In the country. Katzav, however, promised to remove bureaucratic obstacles, and he kept his word. Advertising brochures and radio campaigns urged the public to buy a shop. The country's biggest commercial center is on its way, they said. Don't let it start without you. And again, people who seemed to have forgotten the heartache of the station's first incarnation lined up to buy a store from Yona.

In the summer of 1993, 29 years after the ambitious architect Ram Karmie put pencil to paper, all the usual dignitaries reconvened at the station. Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabing was there, as was the transportation minister, the finance minister, the mayor of Tel Aviv, and even Karmie himself, in what was the only time he ever visited the building while it was working. In a rare moment of self-deprecating humor, the opening ceremony was kicked off by releasing a giant helium balloon in a shape of a white elephant. But not everyone was amused.

Here again is Shula Keshet, one of the station's unhappy neighbors. At the time they were celebrating inside, we were standing outside in a big demonstration ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה עוד כבר, ‫הוא נעשה was largely ignored, while all of Israel heard about the grand opening that evening on National TV. More than 30 years after PILT said his eyes on the plot, the new central bus station in Tel Aviv was now up and running. It's been open ever since, but it's far from the posh shopping mall it was meant to be. There's a certain temptation to view those first years as the years when things were still working. But honestly, things never really worked here. Yona never managed to sell all the new stores he had built, so many of them stood vacant,

and many of the ones that were open, especially stores located in the far corners of this vast labyrinth, were barely getting any foot traffic. You can understand why the vendors don't have many good words to say about this place. This in Tachana, not good working. When did they get a burn this place? Mesh, there's nothing here. Bit gore diuter rana shimiya. There's more place? There's nothing here. There's no aircon. Nothing. It's things.

Look at my cash register. No money. Come look. You can't make a living here, no work, no nothing. I'm just sitting here passing the time. I prefer to work in another place than inside here in Tel Aviv Central Basis Station. And we can go on like this, believe me. We're not short on this kind of tape. In 2002, the ground floor was closed for good. The reason, excessive air pollution.

That meant that done, the municipal bus company moved up to the sixth and seventh floors, right next to Egget, the national bus carrier. So now, with all the platforms located on the top floors, the entire concept of the station, that people will trickle down through the shops on their way from one bus to the other was gone. The lower floors of the station became ghost floors. And before long, just like his predecessor peels, Molde Chayonna filed for bankruptcy. Since then, the station has fallen deep in debt. There are real estate billionaires and banks passing the hot potatoes from one to the other, store owners suing in court and in the middle of all of this is Miki Zeev, the station's general manager who's doing his

best to run the place. He's tried all kinds of creative solutions, cheap rates for artists, studios, cultural events, conferences. But it seems as if the station is just getting emptier and emptier. We have here 1,500 stores, but only 600 are open. Because the building is so huge, they are not necessary. At first, the planners thought that up to a million people a day would pass through the station. Nowadays, every age 50,000 people are coming.

It's going down. 50,000 people, that's just 5% of the original estimate. Maybe this is the root of the problem. The developers agreed led them to sell more and more commercial spaces, which in turn blew the station's size out of proportion. Or maybe it's all just location, location, location, and putting the station in the poor neighborhoods of southern Tel Aviv sealed its fate. Or perhaps it was simple short-sightedness. In the 1960s there were only 24,000 private vehicles in all of Israel, and everybody used public transportation. Who knew then that this number would increase

more than a hundred fold and reach the 2.5 million cars that crowd our roads today. When Pilts and Karmie dreamt up the project, they imagined a city under a roof. And when all said and done, it does kind of have that vibe. Here's Talia, the architect. In a way, the fact that it's called a city under a roof kind of says it all. In a city you've got everything. You've got the dark spaces, you've got the lit spaces, you've got the interesting bits, you have the scary bits, you have the exciting bits.

And all of it just exists there, co-exist there, in a way. Despite the gloominess all around, sometimes you get the feeling you can spend your whole life in here. There's a post office, a grocery shop, travel agencies. You can find a dentist clinic, lawyers, churches, markets, schools, clothes, artists, studios, kindergarten. There's also an atomic bomb shelter and synagogues. There's a whole world in here, right under Tereviw's nose. It's just a shame that nobody

bothers to pick up the stone and take a look beneath it. More than 50 years have passed since the idea for the Central Bus Station was born in a creative mind of Arya Peelts and started to take shape on Ram Karmie's drawing board. Ever since, people have been trying to figure out what to do with it. Here's Shon Rodbalt, the architect again. I can certainly see how in the past 10-15 years the use of the station is decreasing, shops are closing, trade is deteriorating and gradually causing deterioration in all the neighborhoods around here. In this case there is no really a winner, everybody's a loser,

the architect of this building, Ram Karmee has been really despised for this project and it affects ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא עוד קרקטים, ‫הוא ע which means a fool may throw into a well-estone which a hundred wise men cannot pull out. Riftgekarmi, Ram's widow, is a bit more optimistic. I believe the story of the central bastation is not over yet. Pinchas for his part is desperate. And I'm over 80 years old today. They used to be young. I had the will to deal with them. Nowadays, I have no energy.

And they're very cool. There are many parallels between the story of the central bus station and the entire Zionist project, entrepreneurship, creating facts on the ground, the patchwork system, gradual move towards privatization and capitalism. In the state's case it worked pretty well, but not so with the central bus station, at least not so far.

But who knows, maybe the station's good days still lie ahead and the grandchildren of Ilan, Pinchas, Mark, and many more will end up inheriting a shop in the so-ho of Tel Aviv. For now, while history debates whether the new central bus station is a stone thrown by a fool or a spectacular human monument, many people that we would rather forget have turned this strange and confusing place into their home. That's reporter Yohai Metal for Israel Story, with production help from Katie Polverman. It was edited and produced by Yohai Metal, Mishiharman, and Julie Subran. Israel Story is a great new podcast from PRX and Tablet magazine, hosted by Mishiharman, who you heard at the top of the show. A lot of people, including Ira Glass, call it the Israeli This American Life.

They specialize in telling human stories from Jews and Arabs, secular and religious people, from one of the most fascinating places on Earth. You can find all their episodes every place that you get podcasts and on their website, isrealstory.org. 99% Invisible is Sam Greenspan, Delaney Hall, Kurt Colstead, Katie Mingle, Avery Troubleman, Shereefusef, and me Roman Mars. We are a project of 91.7KALW San Francisco and produced out of the offices of Arxine, an architecture and interior sperm. In beautiful, downtown, Oakland, California. You can find this show and like the show on Facebook. We're all on Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, and Spotify,

but the best place to explore the 99% invisible activity that shapes the design of our world is on our website. It's 99pi.org. Radio Tepi-O from PRX.