In Constructing a Sense of Place: Architecture and the Zionist Discourse (Ashgate, 2004), architect and planner Haim Yacobi has compiled a fascinating collection of essays on how the Israeli landscape was born.
The book begins with the 1934 Levant Fair, for which the flying camel logo (right) was developed to represent the growing Jewish community in Palestine – a camel representing the Middle East, the wings showing the Yishuv’s eye to progress.
The fair was Tel Aviv’s version of World’s Fairs going up at the time in Chicago, Paris and New York, and it showcased the Israeli adaptation of European-style Modernist buildings, adapted to give shade and shelter from the strong sun and wind in Palestine.
Contributor Zvi Efrat covers the different planning approaches used in establishing the 29 development towns along Israel’s northern and southern peripheries. These towns, planned on the most up-to-date European concepts, wound up being a terrible mismatch with the local environment, causing one architect to point out that “In Beer Sheva, where one searches longingly for traffic and commotion, for a bit of social gathering – there, in the middle of the desert, we solved the problems of London…but obviously, what is good for five or eight or ten million people – is catastrophic when you have a mere ten thousand in the desert.”
Zvi Elyahu addresses the anti-urban bias in early Israeli construction. In the 1950s, the visiting Brazilian architect Oscar Neimeyer dreamed of creating a vertical kibbutz, which would mean the entire community living in a skyscraper.
He also imagined towers soaring up from Tel Aviv’s present-day Dizengoff Center, and a set of three skyscrapers to occupy the circular park at Kikar Hamedina (plans not so far from today’s debates in Tel Aviv).
Excepting a 31-story tower at Haifa University, the rest of Neimeyer’s plans were vehemently rejected by the Zionist establishment, which sought to mark the land with Jewish construction.
“Zionism, as a national revival movement, sought to distance itself from the historic image of the dense and decrepit European city, seeing agrarian life as the basis for the creation of a modern society in a new-old land.”
One essay focuses on the distinctly kitsch form of contemporary Israeli architecture, in which buildings are constructed to draw “ironic” attention, such as a Tel Aviv performing arts center where the dressing rooms were fitted with large windows facing the street, giving the public an intimate view of the actors inside.
Another investigates Arab attitudes to Jewish environmentalism in Israel, in particular when Jewish ideas of nature preserves entail depriving Arab villages of water, electricity or communications infrastructure.
Other pieces focus on security in Gilo, a neighborhood south of Jerusalem built over the Green Line; on public housing in Israel; on the history of Hebrew University’s Mount Scopus campus; and on Jaffa’s struggle for identity.
In mining the planning and architectural history of Israel, Yacobi has put forth a portrait of a young country that forged a new building style to match the New Jew emerging from the agricultural communes. There is plenty of criticism of Israel’s choices in building and planning and the effects of public policy on groups like Arabs and Jews of Oriental descent, which diminishes what Israeli architecture actually achieved. However, Yacobi offers an insightful look at the roots of local attitudes to the land, which should be required reading for planners trying to change what’s already here.
(Graphics: Flying Camel logo from Stanford)
Author: Daniella Cheslow
Daniella Cheslow grew up in a car-dependent suburb in New Jersey, where she noticed strip malls and Wal-Marts slowly replacing farmland. Her introduction to nature came through hiking trips in Israel. As a counselor for a freshman backpacking program at Northwestern University, Daniella noticed that Americans outdoors seemed to need to arm themselves with performance clothing, specialized water bottles and sophisticated camping silverware. This made her think about how to interact with and enjoy nature simply. This year, Daniella is getting a Master’s in Geography from Ben Gurion University of the Negev. She also freelance writes, photographs and podcasts. In her free time, she takes day trips in the desert, drops off compost and cooks local foods like stuffed zucchini, kubbeh and majadara. Daniella gets her peak oil anxiety from James Howard Kunstler and her organic food dreams from Michael Pollan. Read more at her blog, TheTruthHerzl.com. Daniella can be reached at daniella (at) greenprophet (dot) com.
Geothermal heat pumps are durable and require little maintenance. They have fewer mechanical components than other systems, and most of those components are underground, sheltered from the weather. The underground piping used in the system is often guaranteed to last 25 to 50 years and is virtually worry-free. The components inside the house are small and easily accessible for maintenance. Warm and cool air is distributed through ductwork, just as in a regular forced-air system.
Since geothermal systems have no outside condensing units like air conditioners, they are quieter to operate.
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How Do They Work?
Remember, a geothermal heat pump doesn’t create heat by burning fuel, like a furnace does. Instead, in winter it collects the Earth’s natural heat through a series of pipes, called a loop, installed below the surface of the ground or submersed in a pond or lake. Fluid circulates through the loop and carries the heat to the house. There, an electrically driven compressor and a heat exchanger concentrate the Earth’s energy and release it inside the home at a higher temperature. Ductwork distributes the heat to different rooms.
In summer, the process is reversed. The underground loop draws excess heat from the house and allows it to be absorbed by the Earth. The system cools your home in the same way that a refrigerator keeps your food cool – by drawing heat from the interior, not by blowing in cold air.
The geothermal loop that is buried underground is typically made of high-density polyethylene, a tough plastic that is extraordinarily durable but which allows heat to pass through efficiently. When installers connect sections of pipe, they heat fuse the joints, making the connections stronger than the pipe itself. The fluid in the loop is water or an environmentally safe antifreeze solution that circulates through the pipes in a closed system.
Another type of geothermal system uses a loop of copper piping placed underground. When refrigerant is pumped through the loop, heat is transferred directly through the copper to the earth.
As with any heat pump, geothermal and water-source heat pumps are able to heat, cool, and, if so equipped, supply the house with hot water. Some models of geothermal systems are available with two-speed compressors and variable fans for more comfort and energy savings. Relative to air-source heat pumps, they are quieter, last longer, need little maintenance, and do not depend on the temperature of the outside air.
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