Raving in Israel

It's midnight in Jerusalem's industrial zone and I'm casually smoking my last cigarette in an abandoned warehouse. Beneath me, the uneven concrete floor looks stained by dried puddles of oil or some unknown chemical and I figure it won't matter if I drop the dying butt right where I'm standing. The air is dry and dusty, yet conducive to a subterranean ambience for which people will soon be paying. Jerusalem, the holiest city on earth, has a whole underground scene that is about to erupt once again, tonight.

Everything is going as planned for DJs Anna and Tzachi, the founders of Pacotek. They run a line of rave parties thrown at secret locations every other week. Ranging from deserted buildings to old construction sites, the settings are always dark and tousled, but never dull. Before every event, information on its exact location is passed by word of mouth around the city, reaching the ears of a devoted audience.

Suddenly, we are informed that a police car is standing by the entrance gate. It is decided that no one should be let in until the premises are once again cleared. With beer in our hands and rolling eyes, we patiently wait for them to leave. It seems that the people of Pacotek aren't easily intimidated by the cops. I recall a party that was once shut down minutes before it was supposed to begin. Only two hours later, the revelers had managed to set everything up in an underground parking lot halfway across town. They are prepared with a fallback plan for every disappointing scenario.

"Do you see how things have become here, Benny?" Anna asks me over the shiny turntables and CD players. Mistakenly, I assume she is talking about the huge amount of equipment she has collected over the years, and I answer, "It looks great!" I then understand that she is referring to the unwanted visitors, and I admit that it seems pretty tough.

"They're always around, harassing us at every party," she explains. As if her prayers were answered, we are told that the police have finally left. The doors are once again opened and people slowly begin to leak in.

Throwing a party in Israel is never easy, not even if you're doing it legally. There are already so many nightclubs and bars in this country that gathering a new audience has become almost impossible. Israeli club-goers also have an acute sense for Electronic music, and rarely settle for anything that isn't genuine. If it isn't done right, chances are that nobody will come. However, such isn't the case for the Pacos, who have apparently turned illegal locations into something new and exciting. The fact that everyone is trespassing in order to have a good time seems to add a lot of spice.

An hour later, the place is already packed with hundreds of crazed, sweaty dancers. Soldiers that are home for the weekend, disheveled hippies, spaced-out Bezalel students, and Moroccans with spiked hair are just some of the different kinds Israelis you will find here. They jump up and down to the repetitive beats, sometimes waving arms as if they were at a wedding. There are even a few Chareidim here as well, observing the commotion with interest, but apparently too nervous to join. As I watch all of this, it becomes clear to me just how much these people have in common. This is their way of diffusing the pressure in such an intense city. Techno music, which most people consider cacophonous or pointless, seems to provide a soothing influence in times of financial hardship and political turmoil.

Unlike some of the trendier nightclubs in Israel, which can charge up to a hundred shekels at the door, the entrance fee here is minimal. There are no international DJs or flashy outfits, and not a single person looks like he is on drugs. The stereotypical image of a rave partygoer with grinding teeth or dilated pupils doesn't exist in this place. Instead, most of the people here are dressed in plain clothes, sipping from bottles of Goldstar beer and Arak.

The music is played louder than most places would allow. Industrial sounds and melodies that feel like they were processed out of an eighties comeback layer over each other at rapid speeds. It sounds quite sickening, which is what most people who enjoy this kind of music want. These days its much more complicated than just "boom, boom."

Stepping out, I look down and find my shoes covered with dust. It's possible that most people would stay away from events like this, but I still find it reassuring to know they exist in Jerusalem. The Jewish capital may have suffered blows to its security and economy, but people are still trying to have a good time, which is an absolute necessity in any city