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A Random Meeting between A Square and a Circle Architect Ami Ran
 Three factors combined to induce me to write about the unprecedented sprouting of hundreds of roundabouts on Israeli roads over the last two years: the persistent scandalous misuse of both the label and the function; a recent visit to Great Britain, the "mother of all roundabouts"; and the imminent threat of refurbishment of all of Tel Aviv's most important squares, some with historical roots in the City's original master plan drawn up by Patrick Geddes in 1926. First, a necessary clarification: While a square (or piazza) may offer a realm for pedestrian interaction, a roundabout is merely a clever way of organizing vehicular rights of way without traffic grinding to a halt. The principle is simple: on approaching the roundabout, the driver gives the right of way to traffic already there. And, if one is traveling more than half the circumference, one should pass to the inner lane to make way for those attempting to enter. Paradoxically, this creates a situation in which one grants right of way to the the vehicle entering from the left, in violation of the golden rule applied in the absence of signage, that the vehicle on the right has right of way. This is the theory, and it works if the roundabout's radius is properly calculated, the circle wide enough and free of confusing signs, uncluttered by "stop" signs, "give right of way" signs and obviously, traffic lights which work in direct opposition to the whole concept of the roundabout. One of the worst and more common mistakes in operating roundabouts is that instead of the standard "roundabout sign" (a blue circle with three arrows in its circumference), the 'give way' sign is often used, thus causing a confusing situation were the driver already in the circle is uncertain of his right of way. At the same time, the approaching driver will not dare enter the intersection "because that's the rule". Eventually both of them will go forward at the same time. Another common mistake is the reduction of the number of lanes in order to prevent interaction between cars. This, despite the fact that common sense dictates that a reduction in lanes automatically causes a bottleneck, leading to juggling for space and the immediate loss of patience.
A prime example of amateurish planning and construction of a traffic roundabout lies on the entrance road to Zahala, a Northern Tel Aviv neighborhood. The road has been recently decorated (literally speaking) with three consecutive roundabouts within half a mile, while the most dangerous intersection has been left unchanged for the drivers' own interpretation. This stretch of road is a perfect example of how to abuse the roundabout as a tool for regulating traffic flow. Obviously, every roundabout should be suited to its specific location and its needs. Whereas in residential neighborhoods the roundabout may be utilized as a decorative element, in an urban square it is slightly more complicated. And it is important to keep in mind that the road is intended for comfortable and safe travel, and any attempt to sabotage this stands in direct opposition to its declared purpose. There are many methods to reduce speeding in residential neighborhoods without damaging the quality of the street. Variation in surface paving near junctions, clear driver orientation aids and comprehensible signage are much more efficient than physical obstacles. The general approval enjoyed by the roundabout (a legacy of the British Mandate) during the country's first years disappeared into thin air during the Brutalist period of the sixties when all and any new development was preferred over the existing. Thus, a city's level of progress became measured according to the number of traffic lights it could install, even if it meant installing lights at roundabouts that were functioning efficiently, such as the Elite roundabout in Ramat Gan and the entrance to Holon. Only recently has it been understood that traffic lights are directly related to traffic jams, and that the roundabout actually represents a low-cost, efficient solution. Yet, the organization of right of way in intersections with roundabouts is a state of mind which requires nurturing and education. The momentum of the roundabout comeback should be encouraged as a means to an intelligent solution with cultural implications. In Great Britain, for example, roundabout interaction follows a clear cultural pattern; the results are evident in the relatively small number of accidents, as well as in broader areas of life which demand tolerance and restraint. Among Israel's most well-known British squares are those which were placed at junctions of more than two roads, including Magen David Square at the intersection of Allenby, Sheinkin, Nachlat Binyamin and King George Streets in Tel Aviv, and Elite Square at Jabotinsky, Arlozorov and Aba Hillel Streets in Ramat Gan. And, of course, the late lamented Dizengoff Circle at the heart of Tel Aviv, the deterioration and destruction of which has featured in AI since back in 1989.
Vitruvius and later Palladio defined the square as an open space at the heart of the city, surrounded by public buildings. Any professional literature on the purpose of the urban square emphasizes its importance as a place for random meetings (Cliandro, Alexander, Hillier, Tzunis). They all cite the medieval square as a spacious area located at a junction, mainly utilized for commercial activity, cultural entertainment and random interaction. Bill Hillier and in his footsteps, Alexander Tzunis, stressed that a successful square is a place where good conditions for social interaction among locals (pedestrians) and passing strangers (vehicles) occur with no necessary connection to its form. Hence, the most famous and successful traditional squares in the world are located at the intersection of local traffic routes in largely populated areas: Oxford Circus, Piccadilly Circus, and Trafalgar Square in London, L'Etoile in Paris, Moscow's Red Square - and of course all the squares built in in Tel Aviv in the 1930s and 40s. All these offer fertile interaction based on a confrontation between the familiar and the random. Here lies the difference between form and content: a round square (like that in Holon) which enables a comfortable flow of vehicles and a rectangular square (like Rabin Square) in Tel Aviv which supplies an open space for pedestrian interaction. Due to the certain opposition between the two shapes (the faster the traffic goes, the more dangerous pedestrian movement), there is an instinctive tendency to separate the two. Such separation only weakens the ability of the square to serve as a realm for social interaction. And this is the reason for the transformation (deterioration) of the atmosphere in Dizengoff Circle. Whereas the original square was established wisely as a complex connecting various blocks of residential buildings, entertainment activity, public buildings and vehicular traffic, the new version is a failure, because it separates these functional elements. When the the refurbishing of the main squares of Tel Aviv is already in gear, it would be wise to remember that without the balanced combination of these vital elements - pedestrian and vehicular traffic - any solution will remain elusive.
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