Personals: Beneath the Surface Photographs by Ken Tannenbaum Yafa Seror Faro owns Yaffa’s restaurant on Greenwich and Harrison streets. She lives in Tribeca with her son. I grew up in the desert in Israel where you could count how many houses there were. When my family first came to Israel from Tunisia, we lived in a tent. It was a part of the world like out of the Bible. My father owned a hotel and had the only movie house in town. So I watched movies all my life, thousands of movies. I lived in a world of fantasy. In 1956, when they built my town, there were immigrants from Iran, North Africa, India, from 20 different countries. Each group had their own different spices, their own smells, their own way of dressing. The clothes were so colorful and I grew up seeing so many different styles.   I’m the last of eight children. and we didn’t buy many clothes from the store. And even as a little girl, I already was telling the dressmaker what I wanted. In high school, I started making my own clothes. There were no store windows to look at, and no magazines. We made our own fashion. We had no toys. We used to play all the time with strings and cans. We’d attach the strings to the cans and walk on them. And I’ve been wearing high heels for the rest of my life. The reason I came here from Israel was that I felt it was too small. If I wore what I wear in Israel, I’d be in trouble. Because there, people sit in cafés and judge and criticize each other. In New York it’s different. A year and a half after I came here, I opened a café in the East Village. In the Bible, Moses said to the people of Israel before he gave them the Torah, first you do, then you listen. That’s how I am. When I opened the restaurant, I didn’t even know how to make an omelette. A friend showed me how. I had to learn everything. I worked 20 hours a day, I went to bartending school. I was the waitress, the chef. People think I spend millions of dollars on my clothes. But I don’t believe in spending a lot on clothes. I spend $2 on my bracelets, $10 on a jumper, 25¢ for my hats. I never really go out to shop. I buy a lot of clothing at a flea market in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where I buy vegetables for the restaurant every week. I bought beautiful English riding pants for $2 in a yard sale there. I look at fashion like cooking. You need the right ingredients, the right temperature, the passion, the right shapes and colors.   I love details in dressing. That’s what makes life interesting, too. The hats are a detail. I like color and fabrics. Flowing scarves and shawls that remind me of music. I dream a lot about clothing. The other day I had a dream that I was in a mall with hundreds of different stores, with hundreds of outfits all the color aqua, and I was so impressed with how many tones aqua has. If I’m in a rush, I pick things that are safe and comfortable, and still look good. Sometimes I’ll wear the color I dreamt about that night. Or if I’m in a good mood, I’ll play with more accessories. I love tortoise, aqua, all metallic colors, and whites, of course. I know what looks good on me and what doesn’t. It’s all about balance and harmony. I come from a religious home. So from the minute I got married, I never showed my arms or head. I always kept my head covered. I have about 60 hats. When I look at the mirror I don’t think about what other people will think. I choose clothes for myself. My father used to say, “If it’s not original work, don’t bother with it.” I always remember that. Any outfit is a creation, something you put together and bring to life. When I go into an outfit, it’s like my body and soul. When I wear my zebra outfit, I feel like I’m on the run. I feel like a butterfly when I wear my butterfly glasses. I have a beautiful bear coat that makes me feel like a bear. Other days I feel like a cowgirl. I can be wild, but I have my limits. If things aren’t going right, if I have extra time, I go home and change. I could change my outfit ten times a day and be many different people in one day. Sometimes I feel too open when I have no hat or no glasses. I feel too exposed. An outfit makes me feel protected. No one is going to come and touch me with my glasses and boots. I like to cover up all the surfaces. They say the minute you open a hole in the wall, the mice come in. Why should you show off? Whatever you have is yours. You only share it with the person you live with. In Tunis, my family lived in one big house with a well. They all cooked together, laughed, talked wisdom, took care of the simple things in life. If you ask me what I want, I want a soul mate, to be a housekeeper and take care of someone. I want to have a shoulder to put my head on, to share my problems with, to get advice. Except for my son, I have no family in America. I’m all alone and I’m lonely. I’m crying every day. I feel like I haven’t done anything yet with my life. I have so many dreams and fantasies. I want to make a film, I want to paint more. But I have to earn a living. I have to pay my son’s college, my mortgage. Being in business makes you tough; for art you must be soft. You cannot worry. You have to float, like waves, you need freedom in your mind. I have a lot on my agenda. I’m going to change things. I don’t want to end up being an old lady sitting on a stool on this corner There is an Israeli song that I love. It goes, “The sand, the sea, the sound of the water, the light of the sky and the prayer of the human being will never end.”