As a young person, living in Berkeley, I don't always feel welcome. I go to parties that get broken up by the police, I can't stay in the Y after 5pm, and older folks are generally wary of me. I don't think this is anything special about me or about my generation--as long as there have been two generations on this earth, they probably haven't liked each other much. Three years ago, if someone had told me that there is a place in Berkeley where people aged 16 to 60 can party together without trouble I would never have believed it. Then one Saturday night a friend introduced me to Ashkenaz and Kotoja. And lo and behold, here was a place where the rebellious youth could coexist with its elders and everyone could have a good time. At that time, there was only a handful of us who came to the club but as word spread and more kids from Berkeley High came to dance, I was continuously surprised at how, for a few hours every few weeks, two generations could forget their mutual contempt for each other and dance together.
One experience exemplifies this in my mind. By this time, there were already a lot of students coming to Kotoja shows and it had become a good venue for my friends and me to meet girls. One of my buddies, we'll call him "Sam," was particularly excited that night. "I'm going to meet so many hot ladies!" he boasted, "and I'm going to get freaky with every single one of them!" Sam was really getting pumped up. We pulled into the parking lot and strutted across the street, ready for a wild night of intense dancing and celebrating our independence. Sauntering into the club, saying our usual hellos, we slid onto the dance floor, looking suave as ever. Sam immediately set his sights on an attractive young lady and started to groove towards her. He was almost "face to face," so to speak, with the girl's gyrating hips when he all of a sudden heard a familiar voice, "Sam, hey Sam!" Sam spun around and I must say, I have never seen a jaw drop so far. "Dad, what are you doing here?!" Sam could hardly contain his embarrassment and we could hardly contain our laughter. "Hey, don't worry about it son, I'm just here to boogie," Sam's father said and displayed some funky, though slightly obsolete moves. At first Sam was utterly in shock but as the night progressed, father and son were on the same dance floor, even doing some of the same steps, with no problem at all. This may seem like a silly story but for a teenager, running into your parents at a club is a potential catastrophe. However somehow, in this case, it worked out seamlessly.
What is it about Ashkenaz that allows such an easy alliance between young and old? It's great atmosphere, close community, and fabulous music. Music! I think Ashkenaz may be the only place in the world where two generations can enjoy the same music. And they don't argue about the volume either. For me, Ashkenaz is much more than a club; every show is a family reunion, with a family you actually get along with. I intend to dance at Ashkenaz for as long as I can. In sixty years, when the news reports that the youth are out of control and the elderly are afraid of them, come to Ashkenaz and you will see me there dancing with a walker, hopefully next to my children, or even my grandchildren.
-Noam Biale, written when a student at Berkeley High School