[as if in dreams] A newsletter by Joseph ZItt: 13 October 2023
For most Shabbat dinners, I join my family at the House of a Hundred Grandmothers. Not this week. The dining hall is closed because of the war.
I head out at about noon to do my usual Friday shopping. I figure on going to the mall where at least a few things are open, including the supermarket and the computer store.
When I step outside, I check the transit app. The usual bus to the mall isn't running. The app tells me that the next one will be at my stop on Sunday. OK. The intercity trains however, like the national airline, will be running through Shabbat, to help get soldiers where they need to go.
I call my laundry place from outdoors, since phone service in my basement apartment is spotty. We confirm that he will pick up my laundry Sunday morning. We wish each other a peaceful Shabbat, somewhat more verbosely than usual.
I walk down to the center of town, about ten minutes away. More people are out on the street than on most Fridays, shopping, chatting, and walking their dogs. I notice that a disproportionate number of cats are black and white, rather than the usual yellow or grey. If this were a movie, that would probably signify something.
I stop for lunch at the cafe where I usually get sachlav. When I get to the front of the line, I order my usual Israeli breakfast. They're out of some of the ingredients. All they can do is shakshuka. I like shakshuka, so that's good. They're out of the multigrain bread. Whole wheat is OK. They don't have parsley for the salad. No problem. I don't like parsley. The cashier rings up my order and thanks me by name. I don't recall having met him before. If I ever need to do anything anonymously, I'll have to go to another town.
As I wait for my lunch, I flip through the news. The Taylor Swift movie is opening. Since I don't have dinner plans, I think of catching it. I have enjoyed the bootleg videos that I have seen of the tour. It's scheduled at the movie theater up the road, near the calamansi trees. I check its website to see if any seats are still available. They're all available. That probably means that the theater is closed. I'm not surprised. I don't know how a theater packed full of Swifties would react to a rocket alarm. Come to think of it, though, since the theater is underground, it has probably been constructed as a shelter.
I get word that a dear friend of mine, who moved here about a month ago, is making plans to go back to the States as soon as possible. I can't blame her. I don't know how I would have reacted had war broken out when I had just gotten here. From the US, Israel had seemed safer. She posts a message to Facebook explaining her situation and asking for help and information. With her consent, I share it to my own timeline. I suggest that she go to the Reform synagogue there again for Shabbat services. She tells me that they've had rocket alerts in her town. She's staying home. I understand.
Several people ask me about what the army is planning. I don't know much about strategy. I was president of my high school's Military Tactical Strategy Club, but only because it merged with the Chess Club just before the previous president died. So it goes. I find some relevant articles. My family sends me links. I pass them on.
The supermarket at the Heart of the City is less crowded than I expect. I am only looking for a few things. The Granny Smith apples and red peppers are somewhat picked through, but I easily find enough good ones. They have one loaf left of the bread that I like. And they have the individual containers of the soft white cheese that I eat for breakfast with a drizzle of date syrup.
I decide to splurge on a steak for supper. I go to the butcher's stand and look at what's left in the case. I tell him that I just want one small steak. He holds up a slab of entrecôte. "Some of this?" I nod.
He puts the knife about an inch from one end. "This much?" Good. "It's on sale. Do you want two?"
I only want one. I volunteer, for no good reason, that I live alone. He offers me an idiomatic wish that I will find love.
I head to the wine aisle. I only want something simple, for Kiddush before supper tonight. I don't know wine. I grew up with the heavy Manischewitz, but they don't have it here. (And, writing this, I have to Google how to spell "Manischewitz.") I spend too long staring at the display, then spot a bottle of an inexpensive Carmel Israeli Red. That'll do.
When I get home, I sit in front of the TV and put on a news stream. My eyes quickly close. After a while, I can tell, even through my eyelids, that the screen has become a steady red. Opening my eyes, I see that it's announcing they have rocket sirens in the next city over. I don't hear them here. I eventually hear random voices coming from the TV. They had taken cover but left the studio microphones running. Eventually, they come back and the regular news resumes.
Dinner is good: the steak, rice, and the last of some broccoli from a few days ago. I say Kiddush before I eat. I realize that I should have gotten a challah. I could do with a sweet dessert. My frozen grapes serve well enough.
After I eat, I listen to as much as I can handle of a podcast about journalists' experiences here over the past week. I stop it after a while and get back to writing this.
I see that the dancer from my film has posted a beautiful video message (published for friends only). I watch it, though it clogs intermittently.
Facebook is being especially glitchy tonight. I find myself worrying if it's a Denial of Service attack. It probably isn't. Sometimes Facebook just glitches. Sometimes the cafe doesn't have parsley. Sometimes the cats in the alley just happen to be black and white.
Colophon
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L'hitraot.