FAMILY

After the sudden death of my mother, I turned toward music. 
It was the only place where I could breathe, the only place where grief didn’t swallow me whole. 
I began collecting records obsessively — Israeli Vinyl, CDs, music books 
— anything that kept me connected to the sounds that had shaped me. 
That archive became my anchor, my identity, my way of surviving.
Especially

in my marriage,

Until today, I can spend every free moment wrapped in the nostalgic sounds of Israeli music from the mid-1960s to the 1980s. Artists like Yehoram Gaon, HaGevatron and HaParvarim have shaped my musical world. My record player hardly ever rests.

But day after day, the music within me reaches outward, longing for the gentle woman who holds the key to my heart — to share these melodies with her, to let them weave between us, and to let our souls meet in a quiet harmony only the two of us can hear.

Music has always been more than sound to me  — it is a kind of destiny. A compass made of melodies. A quiet force that leads me to places I didn’t know I needed to be. When I walk through record shops or the markets in Tel Aviv, I’m not just searching for vinyl. I’m searching for signs — for that one rare album that feels like it was waiting for me, hidden in a dusty crate, like fate tucked between cardboard sleeves. Every record I find carries a story, a past life, a fingerprint of someone else’s longing. And when I hold it, I feel as if luck has taken shape in my hands — as if destiny decided to speak through grooves and scratches. Music has always arrived when life felt heavy. It arrived when my marriage lost its warmth. It arrived when loneliness tried to settle in my chest. It arrived when I needed a reminder that beauty still exists in unexpected corners. Sometimes I think the universe speaks to me through songs — that every melody is a message, every rhythm a direction, every rare vinyl a small miracle. And maybe, just maybe, music will be the thing that leads me to her — the woman whose heart matches mine. A woman who understands that collecting records is not about objects, but about collecting moments of destiny. Because in the end, I’m not only searching for luck. I’m searching for someone whose soul can hear the same music. Someone warm, open, and alive. Someone who feels that life is richer when you follow the quiet signs it gives you. Of all the destinies I chase, this is the one I hope will finally play its melody for me.

Some years ago a newspaper has published an article about my passion to collect:

Click on the pictures to enlarge!

 Food - another language of mine — simple, honest, comforting.

 Movies - one more passion, that touches my heart.

Me on the Romano record fair in Corona times.

My record player works 24/7.