Later in 2012, I moved with my new wife to Tel Aviv. I was interested in Jewish Mysticism, which I intended to study. Still, before all, I didn’t want to stay one other day in Moscow and witness the madness. I entered the period, the pattern when I abandoned myself. When I became over rational and objectifying. Fully engaged in the pursuit of mental excitement. I pitched my firm that we would invest in the disruptive startup scene of Israel, ‘the Startup Nation’ - how they call it.
Tel Aviv became my home, and I miss it lovingly. My study of Jewish Mysticism was buried under the hurdles of reading Hebrew Abjad and dealing with the stress of managing Fund’s pipeline and portfolio companies. I travelled to Galilee to Safed a few times and to Jerusalem. However, the idea of ‘the warfare state’ felt nearly as scary to me as populist-kleptocracy back in the North. Too many guns, too much ‘chutzpah.’ As for my ‘shiksa’ wife - she bluntly hated it all.
2013 was the year of overwhelming uncertainty. While nationalism and political tension escalated back home, the aftermath of the U.S. subprime mortgage crisis reached the Mediterranean, sinking the Cypriot economy and one of the largest offshore banking industries. At least €20 out of €70 billion of Cyprus’ bank deposits were Russian. For many Russian businesses using the island’s subsidiaries was not about evading taxes but the only way of doing business globally and in compliance with international law. Hong Kong and Singapore offered more sophisticated alternatives, but ‘Cypriot vehicles’ remained a standard for Russians even after the bailout. ‘Cyprus’ paralysed the Fund’s operations and affected my personal life as ATM trips to withdraw the government-sanctioned daily maximum became part of my daily routine.
Gorky's Apartment →
← A farewell party
linked mentions for "Tel Aviv":
A farewell party
In 2012, I attended a reception of the U.S. Ambassador Michael McFaul alongside many personalities from the technology entrepreneurship community of
I spent the summer of 2013 back home in St. Petersburg. I stayed at the one-time apartment of the political collaborator of Vladimir Lenin and the
overly personal autobio piece of six thousand words and no picture, this introspective project took years to complete, yet like a mythical journey, it's unfinished