I’m going to die in Prague – A love letter

No, dear reader, don’t run away! This article is not sad or gloomy – it is not about death or despair. We already have a high-tech automated world that will render human existence redundant, possible war with Iran, Ukraine, and Russia, uncontrolled migrations, Africa starving, and soon temperatures so high we will be able to fry an egg in our Israeli balconies during winter. But let’s set all that aside. This is a celebration of my love affair with the most beautiful city in the world, the princess of the Vltava – Prague.

Prague is truly the heart of Europe, equidistant from Paris and Kyiv, and close to Warsaw and Vienna. The regions of Bohemia and Moravia have long been a melting pot of Germanic and Slavic cultures, which is reflected in the delightful food and the warm-hearted people. For centuries, Prague was the second city of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, giving it the charm of a Habsburg capital, much like Krakow and Vienna, while also boasting the infrastructure of an Eastern Bloc city like Moscow. It feels as if Dvořák and Kafka walked those cobblestone streets just yesterday, and in the grand narrative of Prague’s history, it really was just yesterday.

Forgive my enthusiasm – when one is in love, it’s easy to exaggerate, beautify, and glorify! I promise to make this love letter more thoughtful, but it will remain deeply personal.

I arrived in Prague in the fall of 2002, right after the summer floods had wreaked havoc on many cities across central Europe. The subway was out of commission, the city center was off-limits, and the film school I was supposed to attend had been submerged! It was a bit of a chaotic scene. Picture this: a 21-year-old who had never ventured far from home, stepping into this whirlwind. My first night was spent in a Chodov dorm, sharing a room with two other people, but as I strolled through Wenceslas Square, bustling with hotdog stands, I felt it – this was a special place, the most special place I had ever encountered.

Sure, there was a bit of an American invasion in Prague during the early 2000s, but beer was cheaper than water! Plus, the influx of Americans brought a delightful array of Tex-Mex and burger joints popping up all over the city, not to mention Joshua Cohen writing weekly for the city’s free English-language newspaper, The Prague Pill. Back then, social media and smartphones with the internet were still a dream, which meant internet cafés serving fantastic coffee were everywhere, and libraries were packed on those chilly winter days.

Hollywood was also in on the action, with two or three productions filming at Barandov Studios near the center. It felt like a real possibility to bump into stars like Sean Connery, Terry Gilliam, Matt Damon, or Guillermo del Toro on the streets – though I might have been the only one who didn’t! There was a vibrant Jewish community, too, thanks in part to American expats. You could catch Orthodox rabbis sharing “Dvar Torah” at the Reform congregation Bejt Simcha, tucked away in the basement of Manešova Street, far from the historic synagogues that held the memories of a dark past. Judaism in Prague wasn’t just a relic of a lost people; it was alive and thriving!

Last year, as part of my Bela Guttmann project, I decided to break Agatha Christie’s motto of “never go back to a place where you were happy” and returned to Prague to shoot a teaser. It turned out to be one of the most touching experiences of my life. We live in a world of constant change; the Tel Aviv I know now is radically different from the one I arrived in seven years ago. Lisbon, my birthplace, has transformed into a tourist amusement park where I find myself a tourist. The pace of change is relentless, and cities seem to blend into a global mishmash of bicycle lanes and Airbnbs. Madrid feels as much like New York as New York does like Seoul. But Prague? That’s different.

Yes, there are new buildings that weren’t there before, and Wenceslas Square has lost its hotdog stands, replaced by a Kentucky Fried Chicken next to the statue of the Duke of Bohemia, which feels like a degradation of the whole area. And while Airbnb is doing its best to strip the city of its soul, amidst all this modernity, you can still find that essence – the thing that makes societies unique and cannot be bought or sold through some Silicon Valley innovation – personality. Twenty-one years later, I rediscovered my Prague. Perhaps the one I found in 2002 was already tainted, but I swear that in certain abandoned corners of the Central Train Station, you can still catch a whiff of the 1930s. Personality is magic.

The days we live in now are filled with anxiety, the ubiquitous feeling of the 2020s. This anxiety stems from a fear of the future; unlike in previous decades, most people feel they have little control over their destiny. We jump from job to job, city to city. This is the true meaning of “owning nothing and being happy.” Anxiety leaves people uncertain about where they will be or how they will live. It may sound arrogant to say I will die anywhere if I don’t know where I will live, but I can solemnly declare that I will die in Prague – if not physically, then at least spiritually. A part of me remains there, and somehow, I found it again. One dies where one feels most alive, and I feel alive in Prague.