[img]96|left|Shachar||no_popup[/img]Dateline Jerusalem — In Israel, our “weekend” is Friday and Saturday, as our work week starts on Sunday.
Most people in America have the luxury of relaxing or doing errands they did not have time for during the week. Even if they are religious Jews, they have all day Sunday to get things accomplished.
In Israel, almost everything closes down by 2 p.m., if not by noon on Friday. Nothing is open on Saturday. That means our weekend is crammed into approximately 4 to 6 hours. Therefore, Friday morning is for shopping, cooking, cleaning and running errands. Not a lot of time. What would I do without my crock-pots?
I arose early and started my chicken soup in one crock-pot, my brisket in another, fixed a salad, and threw some potatoes and vegetables in the oven while I started a load of laundry.
By the time I was dressed and ready to leave the house, dinner was prepared, clothes washed and hung on my clothes rack (don't have a dryer and am uncomfortable hanging my clothes on a line outside my windows like most people do here), and my Shabbat was table set.
I was on tie way to my physical therapy appointment. I haven't quite figured out what kind of therapy I am receiving other than the fact that I lie flat on a doctor's table and the therapist runs her fingers through my hair (she talks about the strength of Sampson because of his long hair) and massages my neck. Then I am told to close my eyes and wake up 10 minutes later. The entire appointment is 20 minutes.
Long Hair Is a Blessing
But, after being in constant pain with my shoulder and arm for the last two months, I am feeling better. I no longer have to wear a sling or take pain medication. I guess it is a good thing that I haven't cut my hair in years. Otherwise, I might still be in constant pain.
After leaving the physical therapist, I walked to the main boulevard in my “town”. I call it a town even though the population is now over 120,000 people. It is quaint and friendly. On Friday mornings, it is bustling with shoppers. The street is lined with orange trees and and outdoor cafes with colorful awnings and umbrellas.
Every other block has a kiosk selling lottery tickets. It seems as though every other shop is a shoe store and every other couple of stores sells household items like dishes, fans, plates, crock-pots, vacuums and microwaves. Of course there are clothing boutiques and handbag boutiques, jewelry stores and banks. In between are bakeries and falafel stands, shwarma and pizza shops, cafes selling coffee, pastries, and bourekas (different shaped, pastry-filled with cheese, mushrooms, potatoes, vegetables or a combination thereof).
A Treat for My Senses
As I turned the corner, two elderly men were performing European and Russian folk music for the passersby. One blew on his trumpet, the other squeezed his accordion. I could not help but stop for a few minutes to listen to the pleasant tunes. It was a treat to my senses to hear the music, smell the aromas coming from the shops, and view all the people walking around me under Israeli flags and colorful streamers strung from one side of the street to the other as this is the 120th anniversary of the official founding of the town.
I was on my way to the shuk, which is like an open air bazaar. On Friday mornings, it is like a can of sardines with so many people taking advantage of their few hours to get things accomplished before everything closes down for Shabbat. The shuk sells fresh fruits and vegetables, has fresh fish sitting on ice, displays trinkets and inexpensive jewelry, offers table cloths and linen, has stalls of vases, urns, religious items, pashimas and scarves. There are also large casks and barrels of loose candy and nuts with metal scoops to shovel them into bags. f course there are fresh plants and flowers for people to buy for their Shabbat tables.
I completed everything on my to-do list and arrived back to my apartment in time to start another load of wash, dust, sweep and mop my floors and straighten up before bringing in Shabbat. Shabbat is supposed to be a day of rest. With all the hustle and bustle to prepare for it, I look forward to it.
L'hitraot. Shachar
Shachar is the Hebrew name of a California-based attorney and former Los Angeles County deputy sheriff who moved to Israel almost three years ago.
