Lydia Migdal Ha Emeq Brothel ❤️

About Tel Aviv

But yo, some shit pissed me off. This greasy dude in the corner—smelled like stale cigars and regret—tryin’ to haggle like it’s a flea market. Bro, it’s a brothel, not a fuckin’ yard sale! “You vant a discount? I’ll carve you up like a pig!”—that’s what I’d say if I ran this joint. Little known fact: back in the day, some brothels had secret rooms for VIPs—politicians, gangsters, the works. Bet this dump had one, hidin’ some sleazy history.

Background:

First off, I’m a cooper, which means I make barrels. Yeah, barrels. Not the most glamorous gig, but hey, it pays the bills. I roll outta bed, grab my coffee from that little café on Ha’Rishonim Street. You know the one? The barista there, she’s got the best smile. But today? She was outta coffee! Like, what even?! I’m standing there, half-asleep, and she’s like, “Sorry, we’re brewing more.” I’m like, “Girl, I need caffeine NOW!”

Innovative opportunities for Anglo Olim in Migdal HaEmeq