Tom O’Carroll’s Childhood Bloomsdays and Sandymount Strand

Our friend, musical Tom O’Carroll, was first planted and sprouted on the sacred sands of Sandymount Strand. Says Tom, “I was born in a flat in a Regency period house and across from us in  Sandymount Green lived the painter Jack Yeates in his castellated house. ’Twas a nice place to grow up in.”

copyright (c) don ward, 2020

His memories of home and Bloomsdays past stir in the run-up to the Joycean high holy day as talk, and the tide wash images of the Strand to our feet. Here’s Tim Ryan’s memory-rich “Walking into Eternity: A Dublin Guide” that Tom shares for your Bloomsday preparation.

 

https://youtu.be/OrKDRpDEPDI

Dr. Aguinaldo Severino’s Bloomsday Tale of Two Cities (in Portuguese and English)

Comecei a ler “Ulysses” no início dos anos 1980, quando vivia em São Paulo, a maior cidade da América Latina. O ano eraodo centenário do aniversário de Joyce, 1982. Estava eu no início de minha graduação(sou físico de formação). A bem da verdade demorei um bom tempo para terminar de ler. Foisó no final de 1983 que alcancei fechar o livro e ficarsatisfeito com o fim desta primeira leitura. A tradução que li foi a pioneira em português, assinada pelo filólogo e diplomata Antônio Houaiss, publicada originalmente em 1966. Passou o tempo, continuei meus estudos, terminei minha graduação e já estava tentando terminar meu doutoramento quando, em 1988,soube da notícia que três seminaise bastante respeitados
tradutores e poetas brasileiros, Haroldo de Campos, Augusto de Campos e Décio Pignatari, organizariam um pioneiro Bloomsday em São Paulo. Esses grandes poetas eram secundados por jovens pesquisadores e acadêmicos universitários, além de agitadores culturaisda cidade,sobretudomúsicos, atores, poetas, escritoresetradutores, ou seja, boa parte do mundo cultural paulista foi atraído pela ideia de comemorar o dia de Bloom, encantados pelaproposta original, que erae é ade apresentar James Joyce em um ambiente não acadêmico, porém mantendo todo o rigor de análise e cuidado que aobra de Joyce merece. Enfim, otempo passou e o Bloomsday de São Paulo continua a ser comemorado ininterruptamente desde 1988 e tornou-se uma referência para todos os demais eventos deste tipo que passaram a ser organizados em muitas outras cidades brasileiras.
Participei de todos os primeiros Bloomsday paulistanos,no período de 1988 a 1993. Todavia, no início de 1994, já doutor em Física, alcancei uma posição permanente como professor na UFSM, uma universidade federal brasileira, localizada em Santa Maria,uma cidade de 300 mil habitantes, bem próxima à fronteira sul brasileira,perto do Uruguay e a 1200 Kmde São Paulo. Profissionalmente era o certo a se fazernaquele momento, mas comentei, amuado,com colegas da UFSM,que deixaria de comemorar um Bloomsday pela primeira vez em muitos anos. Eles, curiosos, se animaram com a ideia do evento. Com apoio de vários colegas da UFSM organizamos um primeiro BloomsdaySanta Maria. Foi uma festa muito divertida. De1994 em diante já organizamos o Bloomsday em Santa Maria 27 vezes. Nos últimos dois anos, osde pandemia COVID,não o fizemos, mas agora em 2022, o ano do centenário do “Ulysses”, certamente voltaremos a nos reunir. A cada ano a programação tem alguma particularidade que a identifica em relação as demais. Num ano, em parceria com um jornal local, conseguimos que um ator vestisse roupas do início dos anos 1900 e fizesse
passeios pela cidade, emulando as situações que acontecem no livro; num outro ano contamos com a participaçãodo professor Caetano Galindo, tradutor de uma das versões do Ulysses para o português; também já filmamos o evento, para produzir material que já foi utilizado em documentários produzidosnos EUA (Joyce to the World, 2004) e na Irlanda(Imagining Ulysses, RTÉ, 2004). Em uma outra ocasiãoorganizamos uma exposição com volumes com diferentes traduções do livro(nosso acervo de edições engloba pelo menos 15 línguas diferentes). Já organizamos também caminhadas pela cidade, como fazem os personagens do livro,assim como leituras públicas das passagens mais poderosas do livro, assim como festivais gastronômicos com comida irlandesa e exposição de livros arte/objetoinspirados em passagens do livro. Enfim, acada ano escolhemos um tema ou abordagem que possa ajudar na divulgação, efeméride, acaso ou aniversário de alguém relacionado de alguma forma o Ulysses e a obra de James Joyce.

 

Cabe aqui uma última e breve digressão. Afortunadamente, em português, temos várias traduçõeshoje do Ulysses, que implicaram, cada uma a sua vez, emrenovar o interesse dos leitores. No Brasil, ou seja, no português falado no Brasil, já foram publicadas três traduções (Antônio Houaiss, 1966; Bernardina Pinheiro, 2005eCaetano Galindo, 2012) e uma quarta está prometida para ser publicada neste Bloomsday de 2022. Já no português falado em Portugal existem duas outras traduções publicadas (João Palma-Ferreira, 1989e Jorge Vaz de Carvalho, 2014). Dezenas de outros tradutores se envolveramnas demais obrasde Joyce(nos seus poemas, ensaios, contos e no Finnegans Wake).

 

Finda essa digressão, me despeçoe digo isso: Já estive em Dublin e percorri os caminhos de Bloom por lá. Mas fiz isso não em um Bloomsday, e sim os dias de morte e nascimento de Joyce, no inverno irlandês. Fui a Martello Tower num 02 de fevereiro e acredito ter feito todos os passeios possíveisem quinze dias de encanto. Acredito, que antes de morrer, talvez depois de estar aposentado e sem compromissos letivos em junho (no hemisfério sul estamos justamente no final do período letivo nesta época), terei a chance de ir a Dublin em um 16 de junho e lá me divertirdignamente. Com isso, esse meu conto talvez um dia seja sobre três cidades. Enquanto isso, apenas digo, “no ano que vem, em Dublin, a New Bloomusalem”.

Feliz Bloomsday para todos os joyceanos do planeta. Saudações de Santa Maria. Grato.

Aguinaldo Medici Severino

 

English Translation

Alessandra Estreet Di Sante’s Bloomsday Prayer (Doubly Sanctified in Italian and English)

Il mio Bloomsday

Come sarà il mio Bloomsday dei cento anni?
Sarà in solitudine, come una preghiera di ringraziamento
Sarà un giorno di riflessione sulla possibile perfezione dell’uomo nell’ imperfezione di Bloom
Sarà una richiesta di perdono per tutto ciò che di brutto ho letto in questi anni
Sarà l’inizio di una guida per riconoscere i miei santi

Alessandra Estreet Di Sante

 

Alessandra’s Well-Worn Prayer Book

My Bloomsday

What will my 100th birthday Bloomsday be like?
It will be in solitude, like a prayer of thanksgiving.
It will be a day of reflection on the possible perfection of man in Bloom’s imperfection.
It will be a plea for forgiveness for everything bad I’ve read over the years.
It will be the beginning of a guide to recognize my saints

Alessandra Estreet Di Sante

Lucilla Micacchi’s Bloomsday Wish: “This Year in Dublin!”

[You might have noted that two of the Bloomsday Memories have reported about events at Irish embassies, one in Tel Aviv and another in Athens. This trend of attending official International events emerged here in 2021when Lucilla Micacchi followed up her contribution to your “Where Has Your Copy of Ulysses Been?” display              

https://jamesjoycereadingcircle.com/2021/03/04/where-has-your-copy-of-ulysses-been/ 

with a report from the Ateneo Cientifico Literario y Artistico festivities in Madrid.

I will add without any suggestion from Lucilla, that she has recently published a book titled Women in the Shadow of Genius: The Stories of Zelda Fitzgerald and Lucia Joyce. Of her analysis Magazine Italia says that the women suffered three failures: familial by husband and father respectively; societal, leaving them without options given the role of women in their time, and scientific from the still fledgling discipline of psychoanalysis’ inability to aid them. I am greatly interested in not only Joyce but also F. Scott Fitzgerald, so I anticipate an English translation of the book. I might even dare to read it with my halting understanding of Italian. Since I also have a book about Picasso in the French to read, you might not hear from me again until Fall. Good news there. ~Don Ward]

 

 

 

 

 

Photos from last year’s Bloomsday in the Ateneo Palace in Madrid, with attendance including the Irish Ambassador. 

Joyce's music had been played earlier and excerpts from Ulysses 
were read. All in all a great night!

I'm planning to go to Dublin this year. I miss my Bloomsdays in
Ireland, there have been so many before COVID 19. But nothing is
set yet. If I stay in Madrid I will definitely celebrate the 
great day again at the Ateneo.- Lucilla Micacchi

Luigi Saverio Tozzi’s : Three Windows, The Living and the Dead

[The Ulysses Centenary has passed. It is now the work of new readers to sustain and enrich the Joyce Industry looking toward the Ulysses Bicentenary. Luigi Saverio Tozzi is such a reader. His Bloomsday memory is, in fact, only of a Bloomsday in a non-linear sense. This essay is about Luigi’s felonious introduction to James Joyce by way of Dubliners and its profound effect on him. As a demonstration of his commitment, he submitted this essay in English (although Italian will always be welcomed here). You might be convinced, as I was, that his promise of “a new odyssey” is already charted. ~don ward]

I first discovered James Joyce at school, but not during a Classics class. Perhaps this is already something that might intrigue the reader because my first James Joyce book was a 1971 edition of Dubliners… that I stole from the school library. You stole! The expression resounded, a dark, austere voice, and conscience imposed excruciating guilt. How would I atone for this sin? I would be condemned forever by the Inquisition tribunal of my brain.

I confessed everything to my grandfather. He asked me where I had stolen it and if it was a library frequented by many users. Well, I told him that I didn’t even think there was a custodian there., just lots of books registered, marked, and abandoned, a finger of dust on the book placed higher than the myriad stacks left to yellow in the closed darkness of forgetfulness. Each book was a tombstone. Slyly, my grandfather said to me, “You didn’t steal it; you simply borrowed it indefinitely.” With this, he wanted to tell me that the book now belonged to me by right and that I was giving it a new life.

I began to read it. The first story, “The Sisters,” opens with the image of a window seen from outside by a child, dimly lit by candles. Someone is dying. The word “paralysis” struck me and sent a chill down my spine; it was a word that sounded strange to me just as it did to the child protagonist (narrator of the story), who at one point learns that a Father, his “friend”, has died at age 65 on July 1, 1895. Every word in this tale, where everything is stuck and nothing really happens, has a reverberation. Every word makes the air I breathe shake, I thought, and yet it’s all still, everything so still. I think now, an engorged hemiplegic delirium, and I’ll be forgiven for the climax, but these are the real sensations I fished out of the memory tank. 

I went on reading, and another window appeared in the inception of the fourth story, observing, this time, is from inside a house crammed with memories. There is “Eveline,” the present tense is no coincidence because the characters remain there on the page, her head resting on the curtains, tired, looking out, “few people on the street”. Dear Eveline, I thought, searches for an absurd hope in the folds of the past but returns to her present and finds the stale, dusty smell of resignation. She has to escape, but the sound of an organ comes to her ears that isn’t just a sequence of notes: she remembers the promise she made to her mother on her deathbed: to keep the family together.

“The Sisters” and “Eveline”: two windows like a dimensional I with a Dantean flavor: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate. There are two deaths. In “The Sisters,” a priest named James dies. This character is perhaps an allusion to the author, but the plot also expresses metaphorical and real escapes that his characters did not dare to make? In “Eveline,” a mother dies like Joyce’s mother, who died on August 13, 1903. Joyce would have published “The Sisters” in George Russell’s magazine, AE, The Irish Homestead, signing himself Stephen Dedalus…pseudonym or Pessoan heteronym.; There is a shadow named “paralysis”, which looms over the characters, poor prisoners, already in the grip of a double bogeyman, in check of life and death. These are two stories that Joyce wrote in Ireland and that he reworked and rewrote only later in Italy, far from Dublin, the center and periphery of his universe.

A third window remains engraved on my soul, that of the last story, the fifteenth of the Dubliners, written between July and August 1907, “The Dead,” a hotel window. The third among the dead is the most important one, Gabriel’s love rival, Michael Furey. Gretta’s boyfriend, already ill with tuberculosis, irreversibly aggravated after venturing out in the rain to convince Gretta not to move away from him. She will say: “I think he died for me.” Gabriel has an unbeatable rival in Michael because he has been dead for many years, unbeatable because he is outside the laws of time. The eternal Michael Furey comes back to Gretta’s mind through the mysterious tune played on the piano. The far-away music is titled “The Maiden of Aughrim.” The snow then arrives, gently beating on the glass of that window. Those dancing flakes call Gabriel’s attention, but they also carry all the space-time planes of the universe. Each snowflake “reveals” to us, one by one, the secrets of our poetic walk of shadows. It “veils” everything tenderly buried under the silent blanket that separates the living and the dead… “And I don’t know who goes and who stays”. 

From here, we will set off on a longer journey, a new odyssey…

Flannery O’Connor, ” The King of the Birds,” and Easter Week

In “The King of the Birds,” Flannery O’Connor writes, “The Peacock likes to sit on gates or fence posts and allow his tail to hang down. A peacock on a fence post is a superb sight.” That vision may be a gold-flecked, Eastern Rite Crucifixion and Transfiguration all in a single instant.

Fowl-famous at age five, Flannery survived her childhood to walk haltingly but relentlessly forward. At that age, she owned a vacillating buff bantam, capable of striding forward then backward to no linear advantage. The bantam balked before the newsreel camera and died from the pressures of fame soon after his brush with the media. Little Mary Flannery best-loved the freakish even among her fowl.

[She] favored those with one green eye and one orange or with overlong necks and crooked combs…. I wanted one with three legs or three wings but nothing in that line turned up…. I pondered over the picture in Robert Ripley’s book, Believe It or Not, of a rooster that had survived for thirty days without his head; but I did not have a scientific temperament.

I don’t think it is slanderous to speculate that a five-year-old would pray for such a peculiarity. Her God knew it was better that she wait until she could better use an intimacy with freakishness and ignored her request. The girl consoled herself by sewing costumes for her captive chickens. As an adult, the mistress of Andalusia found a way to combine the incongruous, her love for birds, her cultivated appreciation of beauty, and her ability to find the presence of divinity everywhere. The happy intersection occurred when “the Florida Market Bulletin advertised three-year-old peafowl at sixty-five dollars a pair.”

The breeding pair arrived sans magnificence. The cock had shed his tail and would not be ready for Epiphany until after Christmas. The hen’s appeal required cultivation. Peachickens live to about thirty-five. As infants, they are prone to predators (like vixens or Herod). As chicks, they are homely and helpless as are mortal humans. The Peacock’s regal bearing seems unjustifiable in an infant. Soon He preens and prances in magnificence for the edification of mankind and the animal kingdom. Once past infancy, the peachick seems indestructible as if protected by Providence itself. “Impossible to destroy,” comments FO’C. However, as an adult, the Peacock may place Himself in danger against irresistible forces like threshing machines or the Sanhedrin, which may truncate His life. However, one observer quoted says that despite hideously gawky legs and a propensity to caw truth to power, the peacock “could outrun a bus,” thus outdistancing death.

The O’Connor’s peafowls were typically standoffish. They gave the humans “as wide a berth as possible,” in the words of their mistress, who also believed that if you don’t ask the Holy Ghost to tend to you, He won’t. The King of the Birds and The Salvador Mundi expect careful, respectful, and contrite approaches. The supplicant might come bearing an offering that indicates sincerity (in this case, nothing more than a palmful of Startena). For this insignificant offering, the petitioner might be Graced with a glimpse of Glory. O’Connor describes the Transformation this way:

The cock opens his tail by shaking himself violently until it is gradually lifted in an arch around him. Then, before anyone has had a chance to see it, he swings around so that his back faces the spectator…. When the Peacock has presented his back, the spectator will usually begin to walk around him to get a front view; but the Peacock will continue to turn so that no front view is possible. The thing to do then is to stand still and wait until it pleases him to turn. When it suits him, the Peacock will face you.

All witnesses haven’t the patience or the preparation to wait for Glory. FO’C describes three types of reactions to the difficulties of finding and fostering faith. Disappointed by the demands of worship and unable to accept the miracle of Incarnation, a calloused teamster mocks the Earthbound Peacock, “Get a load of that bastard.” Others, like the telephone lineman, insist on a miracle before they will believe. He orders, “Come on now, bud… get the show on the road, upsy-daisy, come on now, snap it up, snap it up.” The lucky few are like the humble, unlettered old woman who can only swoon, “Amen. Amen.”

Flannery O’Connor began her mission with the hope that she might see her lordly bird “every time I go out the door.” The bird was ubiquitous through her persistent efforts, and the miracle shone everywhere on Andalusia.

Today His appearance is rarely cultivated. Another O’Connor case study tells of a grandfather’s instruction of his nihilist young charges:

“‘Ain’t seen one of them since my grandaddy’s day,’ he said, respectfully removing his hat. ‘Folks used to have ’em, but they don’t no more. Churren,’ the old man said, ‘that’s the king of the birds!’ The children received this information in silence. After a minute, they climbed back into the car and continued from there to stare at the peacock, their expressions annoyed, as if they disliked catching the old man in the truth.”

Finally, there is a certain fencepost Centurian who rather than listen to the Peacock’s warning, resorted to violence. He had twenty consecrated in the freezer, unconsumed. One day he will eat that flesh which may improve his vision.

 

Work Cited

O’Connor, Flannery. “The King of the Birds,” Mystery and Manners, Eds. Sally and Robert Fitzgerald. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Kindle Edition.

Phil Holden’s Bloomsday Memories from the Omphalos

One hundred years of analysis has led scholars and enthusiasts to dizzying depths of meaning in Ulysses. Theories and conjectures abound from broad themes to minutiae of detail. But it doesn’t take a Ph.D. in Joyce Studies to see that in Ulysses, there exists a special resonance for the country, the history, the philosophy, and the ideal of Greece. 

The link to Greece is there even before the book is opened. Joyce’s insistence on the blue wrappers of the February 1922 first printing of Ulysses was to reflect the blue of the Aegean and soon became iconic. The single word of the book’s title, being the Latinised name for Odysseus, hinted at more Greek links, even if not every reader saw in Bloom’s wanderings around Dublin on a Thursday in 1904 a parallel to Homer’s Odyssey. And everyone who has read Ulysses, even those that only managed the first few pages, will have read overt references to Greece. Buck Mulligan entreated Stephen to visit Athens with him; read the classics in their original Ancient Greek; to ‘Chrysostomos’; and the possibility of doing Ireland some good by ‘Hellenizing it’, all occur in the first few pages. And so, writing to you from Athens, I have a sense of pride in celebrating Bloomsday and Ulysses, as if here in Greece, we have a duty to mark the day. After all, isn’t there a delicious irony in Greeks celebrating the odyssey of such an ordinary man on an ordinary day in Dublin? 

The first proper celebration of Bloomsday in Athens happened in 2019, with the support of the Irish Embassy in Greece. I am British but have lived in Greece, with my Greek wife Argyri, for 26 years. I was brought up in London, but my father’s side are all Irish, and my boyhood summers were spent on the family dairy farm in County Wexford. Fast forward to 2018, and the horrors of Brexit finally pushed me to activate my right to Irish nationality. The wonderful staff at the Embassy of Ireland in Greece guided me through the process, and soon I was presented with my Irish passport. I raised with the diplomatic team the prospect of a Bloomsday event. The feeling was to start small and simple by establishing the event, then build the celebrations with each passing year. Thus it was that in June 2019 around 60 “Ulysses-curious” individuals found themselves at The Athens Centre in the central Athens neighbourhood of Pagrati, and passed a very enjoyable, informative evening of entertainment. Short lectures, excerpt readings, and music formed a very pleasing ‘meze’. Celebratory bookmarks were specially printed and distributed to mark the evening. 

Programme for the First Bloomsday Celebration in Athens

The attached programme for the evening gives full details of what no one was certain would work, but, in the end, proved to be a very pleasant occasion. It was clear that a tradition had been started, and it was exciting to think that we had been at the founding Bloomsday celebration. In the days that followed, there was much talk of how the event would grow for the following year, but the arrival of Covid put an end to that. Nothing could be arranged for Bloomsday in 2020 and 2021.

Thankfully Bloomsday in Athens returns for the centenary year, and the 2022 event promises to build substantially on the 2019 debut. Planning for Bloomsday 2022 is well-advanced, and once the final elements are in place, full details will be released and publicized by the Embassy of Ireland in Greece. As one component of the evening, I will be displaying some rare Joyce material, including a copy of Ulysses inscribed in Paris by Joyce to his teacher of Russian in 1928; a first edition from February 1922, a letter written by Joyce in 1920 shortly after moving to Paris; as well as first editions of Dubliners, Portrait, and Finnegans Wake, and much more. In episode one of Ulysses, Buck Mulligan urges Stephen to come with him to Athens if he can get his aunt to fork out twenty quid. On Ryanair, it doesn’t cost much more than that even today. If you can get to Athens in mid-June 2022, funded by your aunt or otherwise, come and celebrate Joyce’s greatest work with us. ~ Phil Holden

Not a Review of Daniel Mulhall’s Ulysses: A Reader’s Odyssey

The tab you landed on says, “Reviews of Books, Articles, etc.” but this could not be a review because I have only read thirty-eight pages of the book; it must be an “etc.” I recently updated the notes for the Hades episode that you could also find on this site, but that was completed without the careful reading this Reader’s Odyssey deserves. I’m saving the book’s other 276 pages to remind me of Ulysses’ purpose as I update Aeolus through Penelope.

I am just a reader of Ulysses and some other books. I am not selling anything or counting the vowels in our greatest novel. Not a vendor nor a counter; I am just a reader. I’ve been told that if I say anything more than twice (as I sometimes do), people begin to say: “Here comes Crazy Old Don.” So here again approaches crazy old me. But isn’t the crazy old reader the most important element of the reading anyway? 

IMG_0091

Daniel Mulhall, Irish Ambassador to the United States, is a Ulysses reader too. Certainly, he says, academic research illuminates the text, but he proves “by algebra,” as Sunny Jim Joyce might say, that the reader is the grandfather of Leopold Bloom. My pretentious claim is that readers’ backgrounds and experiences bind ordinary days to Stephen’s, Molly’s, and Poldy’s in extraordinary expressions of humanity. 

Ambassador Mulhall’s days might have been less ordinary than mine. He has served at the center of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, where Bloom’s father, Rudolph Virag began. He also served in the exotic East, the focus of Bloomish daydreams and hallucinations. Daniel Mulhall also directed humanitarian efforts of a kind that Mr. Bloom would sanction. He has made a career of making human connections in cultures strange to his upbringing. But every reader who has been an outsider, who earns the bread he eats, spares some of it to feed the gulls, suffers losses, finds a way for love to persist, or lives the Beatitudes can find themselves in Ulysses.

The Irish Diasporants are now so assimilated in America that they have fairly ceased to have an identity. I am unlucky enough to be of vintage and lucky enough to still remember the funereal rites that crossed in the coffin ships. The Irish Wake was a distraction but also comforted the grieving family. Mulhall speaks of Dublin’s “homespun ruminations wrapped in graveyard humour.” There is also food and drink and snuff to mask the scent of omnipresent death in Hades. But everyone, inside Dublin or out, lives under the specter of death. Bloom, it’s noted, experiences the pain of reliving the deaths of tangent generations, Rudolph and son Rudy. Bloom’s sensitivities are Protestant; he recommends a quick demise, stunning his Catholic companions who hope for the sacraments before departing. There are also references to Jewish rites for the deceased. Every religion prepares its faithful for death and living with death. Paddy Dignam suffers an Irish death and a Catholic burial, but every reader of any faith or none can throw a fistful of earth into Paddy’s grave.

C.S. Lewis has a character say, “We read to know we are not alone.” Joyce gave us the itinerary of the most mundane day to guarantee that every reader can’t help but recognize the perfect relevance of her own life. I am grateful to friends in academia for ensuring that after thirty readings about 16 June 1904, there are still new puzzles, new perspectives, and new jokes. There’s also a human connection that A Reader’s Odyssey offers, the knowledge that we are not alone even in reading Ulysses.

Crazy Old Don also mutters that this website exists to guide the first-timer and to build a beachhead for the global community of Ulysses readers. He mumbles that is the only way to enable the book’s bi-centennial, through engendering new readers in many nations. Daniel Mulhall’s Ulysses: A Reader’s Odyssey serves that end.

Dr. Talia Abu’s Blooming at the Irish Embassy in Tel Aviv

You may remember Talia’s name from our posts about recording Finnegans Wake at WaywordsandMeansigns where she facilitates postings for techni-dolts like me. I can think of only one place better to celebrate Bloomsday than The Irish Embassy nearest to Agendath Netaim’s paradise. “L’ chaim!” cheers Poldy. 

The Irish Embassy in Tel Aviv

“Yes! in 2019 I was invited to a Bloomsday special at the Irish Embassy. The invitation came after a performance by Lisa Dwan, in Tel Aviv University, where I met the Deputy Head of Mission. The event was so much fun. There was wine and whiskey and food and everybody were so kind and hospitable and interesting. It was one of the best nights of my life.”