Picture caption: I shot this cute picture of a soldier with a pony tail down to her waist and a stuffed animal (Eor, I think) clipped to her knapsack. I told her I was sending the picture to my daughter who also has a stuffed animal on her knapsack and she smiled, I was embarrassed to tell her that it was my knapsack that had “Splat” the dog attached to it.
Now that I have gotten over jet lag, I need to deal with “week adjustment.” In Israel, Friday is kind of like the American Saturday. The banks and post-office are closed and most of the stores shut down around 3 in the afternoon. The transportation system stops in the evening and the streets start to look deserted. On Saturday, its kind of like our Sunday only there are places were you can get stoned with eggs for driving a car. I don’t think Tel Aviv is that way, but tomorrow will be my first official Sabbath, so will see.
I started the day by going to the grocery store because as best as I could tell it was closed tomorrow and closed at 3:30 in the afternoon. There actually was a frenzy of buying and I had to push and shove with a lot of old ladies who I tend to tower over. When it comes to shopping at my neighborhood grocery store it’s a lot like my mother’s grocery store in Miami Beach. I am perfectly prepared to deal with these gnats, you have to be firm, but not overpowering, back down on the unimportant issues, like which bread to take, but gear up when it comes to getting in line. Special thanks to my Mom (god rest her soul) for teaching me how to deal with pushy Jews.)
Then a train trip down to the Central Bus Station which is also a huge shopping mall. The most important insight from the trip is that I finally discovered the “underbelly” of the City. I don’t know how many other levels down Tel Aviv goes, but the Bus Station is definitely lower than the beach resorts or the club scene. I think I found Chinatown and Ethiopia Ville. Once again in my racist mind, I felt very comfortable by simply telling myself, “don’t worry, everyone here is Jewish.” Still, the Ethiopians are really, really different, it’s a fascinating topic, going into the middle of Africa to save a lost tribe of 36,000 Jews who were facing extinction. It’s not my issue, but fascinating no less.
My daughter has asked me to comment on the food (more than on cleavage) so the bus station was my first real food experience. Lots of fresh bread stalls, with Hallah (a great Jewish bread my Mother used to bake every Friday night, the smell of which instantly brings me back to my Aurora, Illinois of all places) And finally falafel places which I could recognize because the word was written in English. I know this will sound goofy, but I love bus station food. But then again when I’m in New York I also liked eating at the Port Authority bus station. Some things never change.
It was starting to get late around 5p.m. and definitely a pre-Sabbath lockdown was taking effect. I was worried since I was far from my apartment and I didn’t know what they did to people on the street after sundown. Jumped on a bus that seemed to be going North and made it home safely. For what its worth, there are no bus maps, or at least I can’t find one, I tend to ride in a direction I want and when the bus turns off the route, I immediately get off, but now that I’ve convinced myself that if necessary I can walk from one side of the town to the other (and not get beat up) I always think I can get home.
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