The Biggest Mall in Israel
| 4 min. read
Big Fashion Mall 3D Render. Source
Israel's largest mall opened three weeks ago. They call it Big Fashion Glilot.
They wanted to open it last October, but it was deemed too insensitive, or maybe too unprofitable. Opening day was rescheduled to February.
By the end of January, regular rain showers began. They were loud, eerily so. I vividly remember a lightning flash so intense it felt as if someone had thrown a flashbang through my window.
A week later, it all just stopped. It was still cold, but there was no rain. The water authority reported it had been the driest winter in 100 years.
Here's how you know an Israel-only real estate project is serious: it has an English-language website, and that website prominently features numbers. 43,000 square meters of open-air shopping with 160 shops, retailers, and restaurants of all kinds. International brands. Plans for a 43-floor office building. Sleek, modern, fancy, right on the interchange.
That February morning had genuinely nice weather. A crowd of 150,000 visitors turned up. Was there fashion? Maybe. Was it big? Absolutely not. A massive traffic jam immediately blocked the parking lot. Hot Levantine air covered the never-ending blare of car horns.
I got on a bus before that happened, but apparently Ramat HaSharon, the city in charge of the Glilot district, had to call the police to restore order.
No one actually lives in Glilot. The mall and interchange sit right on its edge, and there are only two ways in and out. Two fast food joints with Coca-Cola branding sell falafel and schnitzel in baguettes respectively. But you and I aren't their clientele. The soldiers are.
The Glilot military base and fuel depot cover most of the area. You can see its fences, barricaded walls, comms towers, and security cameras the moment you enter, and you can't really escape them. Behind those obstructions sit the IDF's most elite intelligence units. Meanwhile, Ramat HaSharon, their begrudging host, desperately tries to commercialize whatever scraps it still controls.
Across the street, a multiplex struggles to stay afloat. It's called Cinema City Glilot. When it opened in 2002, everyone expected it to be the next big thing, bringing in good business and starting a franchise. It eventually did. But these days, the store owners allege the multiplex's owners essentially gave up on the place. Blurry smartphone photos show misplaced tiles, botched paint jobs, and unfinished renovations. The store owners said they would sue. I don't think they'll get very much.
Right on the interchange, a small family-owned restaurant, about the size of a homely living room and kitchen, serves Turkish bourekas next to a lowly gas station. As far as I know, it was there long before Big Fashion and Cinema City.
I ask why they raised their prices. The twenty-something behind the counter asks me when I last ate here. I tell him it was probably around 2018, but that I used to eat here as a kid after watching movies over at Cinema City.
He scoffs. "COVID and the war fucked us over."
"And what do you think about that Big Fashion thing?"
"Man, talk to me in a year. We'll see if they can keep this up. You wanna order?"
"One cheese bourekas. But no extras and no drinks. I'm trying to save money. This country's expensive."