[img]96|left|||no_popup[/img] Dateline Jerusalem — I chose to live in my town in Israel for four reasons. One, there were many Americans or English-speaking persons here. I knew at my age I would be illiterate when it came to speaking or understanding Hebrew. Two, it had a reputation that everyone could get along with each other, secular and religious, diverse races and cultures, and 70 nationalities. Three, it was the choice of people who had lived elsewhere, and now they never would think of moving again. Lastly, I would not have to buy a car or drive anywhere. Everything was within walking distance. If not, destinations were accessible by frequent bus service, a train station that had trains going everywhere in the country, and taxi cabs galore.
Before becoming an attorney, I was trained as a cop in pursuit-driving, making difficult vehicle maneuvers. Yet I refuse to drive only two places in the world, New York and Israel. Here, drivers straddle two lanes to prevent other cars from passing them, do not stop for pedestrians in crosswalks, play “chicken” with buses and large vehicles, drive backwards on one-way streets, drive on sidewalks. As a former co-worker told me, he speeds up and slows down “for the fun of it.” Of course police cars are everywhere, blue lights flashing to let us know they are out there. But sometimes on the wide open stretches cameras capture photos and the average Israeli speeder will get a ticket close to a year later. Hard to fight a ticket when you cannot remember anything about the event.
Normally I walk to the market, the shuk, the mall, the butcher shop, the fruit and vegetable store, the thousands of shops along the main boulevard that cuts the city in half. Although it no longer is August, the hottest month in Israel, the heat and humidity still is unbearable. I walk around like a mobile waterfall, perspiration oozing from my pores. My face gets red. At times I describe myself as a leaky red water balloon or a melting cherry snow cone. I think the mosquitoes would find the latter description more appropriate.
This week the heat and humidity were particularly high. Just the thought of walking to the closest market, a mere five blocks, was more than I could manage. I decided to call a taxi and go to a supermarket further away, but one I have no trouble walking to in cooler weather. A wise move. The taxi cost $6, but I saved hundreds of dollars by going to the other market. The prices were lower. Nearly everything was on sale. Sometimes it pays to take a taxi.
I did not have to bother with loading and unloading packages into a car or carrying bags home because I ordered “mishloach,” delivery service to my apartment door. Most markets deliver groceries, a luxury I miss when I go to the States. The delivery service allows me to purchase large items such as TVs, coffee urns, cases of water (my favorite drink when ice cold and refreshing) for my emergency supplies and as a thirst quencher in this terrible humid weather, microwaves and large toaster ovens. Supermarkets here have all kinds of TVs, appliances and specialty items in addition to food without having to buy groceries in quantity, like at some places in the States.
When my taxi driver dropped me off at the market, I told him I would call him to pick me up when I finished my shopping. He was surprised to get my call three hours later. Although I always shop with a detailed shopping list, I must go down every aisle. When there are new products, I am like a child in a candy store. I cannot resist the temptation of trying them out. The taxi driver was surprised to receive a tip from me. In Israel, taxi drivers usually do not get tips. I have even had some taxi drivers refuse to accept the tips! I also tip the market delivery guys. Some are surprised while others expect it.
Since I do not own a car in Israel, the “monit” or taxi has enabled me to get around relatively inexpensively. However, if not traveling distances requiring the train or buses, my preference is to walk everywhere. Every neighborhood is unique, from architecture to the diverse aromas of ethnic food. Although the U.S. is considered a melting pot, Israel is even more so.
L'hitraot. Shachar.
