Air raid siren or a sign from God
By Andriy Sheptunov
October 14th marks the birthday of Alexander Roitburd, one of the most prominent contemporary Ukrainian artists.
An artist, curator, director of the Odesa Fine Arts Museum, and an intellectual with encyclopedic knowledge and a razor-sharp sense of humor—he always remained a person who knew how to balance a profound understanding of history and art with an ease of communication and self-deprecating irony.
I want to recall a story from our trip to Jerusalem. It says a lot about Sasha’s character—his skepticism, his irony, and his ability to find a special meaning in coincidences.
An artist, curator, director of the Odesa Fine Arts Museum, and an intellectual with encyclopedic knowledge and a razor-sharp sense of humor—he always remained a person who knew how to balance a profound understanding of history and art with an ease of communication and self-deprecating irony.
I want to recall a story from our trip to Jerusalem. It says a lot about Sasha’s character—his skepticism, his irony, and his ability to find a special meaning in coincidences.
Trip to Jerusalem
It happened in early spring. Sasha and I met at the New Bazaar in Odesa. We loved walking there, buying delicacies, and later tasting them with wine. That day, he suddenly said:
"I'm bored. Let's come up with something. Let's go somewhere."
I replied:
"You haven't been to Jerusalem yet. To that beautiful, holy city."
"Perfect! Let's go to Jerusalem!"
Although he was a staunch atheist and the words about the "holy land" weren't a decisive argument for him, we bought the tickets literally the next day. On March 8th, we arrived in the Holy City and checked into the Mamilla Hotel near the Jaffa Gate.
"I'm bored. Let's come up with something. Let's go somewhere."
I replied:
"You haven't been to Jerusalem yet. To that beautiful, holy city."
"Perfect! Let's go to Jerusalem!"
Although he was a staunch atheist and the words about the "holy land" weren't a decisive argument for him, we bought the tickets literally the next day. On March 8th, we arrived in the Holy City and checked into the Mamilla Hotel near the Jaffa Gate.
In the morning, like proper tourists, we set off to visit the holy sites. Our first stop was the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. As always, I was reverently touching the shrines and climbing the stairs to Golgotha. Sasha, however, was restless and grumbling:
"Stop kissing stones! Let's get out of here. Where's a bar? I want wine!"
I pleaded: "Just a little longer, we'll have time later." He kept repeating his mantra:
"Bar! Wine! Bar!"
By the time we reached the Western Wall, he refused to go any closer:
"Look, all these people... they're out of their minds, brainwashed. Let's leave. I want a drink."
I insisted anyway and said:
"I'm going to leave a note. I want to ask God to grant you some wisdom. It's like an SMS, but a heavenly one."
Sasha smirked:
"Fine, go send your SMS, and then let's go drink some wine."
"Stop kissing stones! Let's get out of here. Where's a bar? I want wine!"
I pleaded: "Just a little longer, we'll have time later." He kept repeating his mantra:
"Bar! Wine! Bar!"
By the time we reached the Western Wall, he refused to go any closer:
"Look, all these people... they're out of their minds, brainwashed. Let's leave. I want a drink."
I insisted anyway and said:
"I'm going to leave a note. I want to ask God to grant you some wisdom. It's like an SMS, but a heavenly one."
Sasha smirked:
"Fine, go send your SMS, and then let's go drink some wine."
Wine and Kosher Humor
After that, we truly embarked on a gastronomic adventure. Jerusalem has everything for it: stunning markets, restaurants, and galleries. For five days, we enjoyed Israeli wines, kosher cuisine, and joked endlessly.
In a kosher restaurant, Sasha would demand:
"Bring me some lard with garlic!"
And in an Arabic one — "a pig's head."
We knew we were risking trouble, but we laughed until we cried. It was very "Roitburd-esque": humor on the edge, yet always delivered with undeniable charm.
In a kosher restaurant, Sasha would demand:
"Bring me some lard with garlic!"
And in an Arabic one — "a pig's head."
We knew we were risking trouble, but we laughed until we cried. It was very "Roitburd-esque": humor on the edge, yet always delivered with undeniable charm.
A sign from God?
On the fifth day, we were getting ready to head home. Sasha had gone out somewhere. I was sitting on the hotel balcony when I heard a strange roar. It was a beautiful sunny day, without a single cloud in the sky. At first, I didn't think much of it. But soon Sasha returned—agitated, his face flushed, with marks from small impacts on his forehead.
"Can you imagine," he said, "I finally decided to go to the Western Wall. I put on a paper kippah and went with a note asking that I achieve something great and bring value to Ukrainian and Odesa art. But about fifteen meters before reaching it, the heavens opened up—and God pelted me with stones!"
He showed me the marks and said quite seriously:
"It must be for everything I’ve said. God didn't let me approach."
Thinking that five days of drinking hadn't passed without a trace and that Sasha was simply making things up, I didn't fully grasp what was happening. We packed our bags and went to the reception. There, I told our story to the receptionist. She smiled:
"That happens sometimes. When air raid sirens are announced, F-16 or F-35 fighter jets fly over Jerusalem at supersonic speeds. Sometimes they pass through small clouds, creating localized hail. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, but suddenly hailstones fall from a cloud. People get scared and take it for an omen."
I passed this explanation on to Sasha. He perked up for a moment but then said:
"No, it’s a sign anyway. It means I must do something good."
And just a year later, he became the director of the Odesa Fine Arts Museum.
I titled this story "Air Raid or Divine Sign." It captures the essence of Roitburd: a skeptic and a joker, a man of risk and a man of destiny. He could argue with God and demand lard in a kosher restaurant, but he always remained someone who knew how to recognize a sign—and turn it into an achievement.
"Can you imagine," he said, "I finally decided to go to the Western Wall. I put on a paper kippah and went with a note asking that I achieve something great and bring value to Ukrainian and Odesa art. But about fifteen meters before reaching it, the heavens opened up—and God pelted me with stones!"
He showed me the marks and said quite seriously:
"It must be for everything I’ve said. God didn't let me approach."
Thinking that five days of drinking hadn't passed without a trace and that Sasha was simply making things up, I didn't fully grasp what was happening. We packed our bags and went to the reception. There, I told our story to the receptionist. She smiled:
"That happens sometimes. When air raid sirens are announced, F-16 or F-35 fighter jets fly over Jerusalem at supersonic speeds. Sometimes they pass through small clouds, creating localized hail. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, but suddenly hailstones fall from a cloud. People get scared and take it for an omen."
I passed this explanation on to Sasha. He perked up for a moment but then said:
"No, it’s a sign anyway. It means I must do something good."
And just a year later, he became the director of the Odesa Fine Arts Museum.
I titled this story "Air Raid or Divine Sign." It captures the essence of Roitburd: a skeptic and a joker, a man of risk and a man of destiny. He could argue with God and demand lard in a kosher restaurant, but he always remained someone who knew how to recognize a sign—and turn it into an achievement.
