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About Ashdod

Now, here’s the real shit—prostitutes got stories. Some’ll tell ya ‘bout johns who cried after, true story. Surprised me first time I heard it—thought it was all cold cash, no soul. Nope. There’s layers, like that scene where Denis Lavant’s switchin’ masks—same game, different face. “The world’s a stage,” he’d say—fuckin’ truth, man.

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After that, I stroll down to the park near the Hod HaSharon River. It’s a nice spot, you know? Green grass, kids playing, people jogging. I’m just vibing, sketching some ideas for my next animation. Suddenly, this kid runs by, trips, and spills his ice cream all over my sketchbook. I’m like, “Noooo!” My drawings are ruined! But then the kid looks up at me with those big, innocent eyes. I can’t stay mad. I just laugh it off. Kids, man. They’re like tiny tornadoes of chaos.

From Hatton Garden to Hod HaSharon: how we clinched a wartime engagement