I hopped of the bus and headed over to center city to meet up with Moshe and Aryeh at Arkadesh. Back in the states during Pesach, you pray you don't get sick of Matza Pizza before the third day; in Israel, most restaurants in Jerusalem (and any kosher restaurant around the country) does intensive spring cleaning and is Kosher for Pesach. I got shwarma in a kosher l'Pesach laffa. It was delicious.
We finished our lunch and wandered around Jerusalem for a bit. Moshe and I had every intention of visiting a funny T-shirt store and, after a little convincing, so did Aryeh.
We headed over to the t-shirt store and began looking
through the collection of tasteless, hilarious t-shirt designs. The shirts are
sold for fifty shekels each, but as the good, capitalistic American I am, I
couldn’t resist the three for one twenty deal; now the only problem was finding
three shirts I could actually justify buying. We spent so much time looking for
shirts that would be appropriate enough to wear back in the states (because
political correctness does not exist in Israel the same way it does in America:
in Israel they have practically
correctness [still pc]) that quite a line built up in the store. They press
the shirts right in the store and we were not in any mood to wait in line for
an hour to get some shirts we weren’t even sure we could ever wear in public,
so we left.
We walked around the block, but
soon found ourselves on the phone with Rozzie, telling us to come back to Ben
Yehuda Street so we could meet her family. Aryeh, Moshe, and I began walking
back, but in order to get to Rozzie we had to pass the t-shirt store. I vowed
that if the line was gone in the store I would march in there and order the two
shirts I wanted and one more practically
correct one. Sure enough, no line: three shirts (and two magnets) later, we
were late to meet Rozzie so we just went over to her apartment.
Throughout the day we bummed around Jerusalem, met up with
Ethan and his family, shopped for nik naks, ordered out Burger’s Bar, and went
to bed early. The excuse for our boring night was our early morning mission;
Chaviva and Rozzie didn’t come, but Moshe and Aryeh accompanied me to the old
city of Jerusalem at three in the morning. In the old city there is a famous jewelry store that
engraves silver rings with Hebrew sayings (it’s quite popular amongst Jewish
summer programs). The kick is if you are the first one at the store (that opens
at 5:30) then they will engrave your ring for you within twenty minutes and it
is half off (so only one hundred shkalim). We wanted to be there first and I
wanted to get a ring with part of my favorite verses from Kabbalat Shabbat. We
got there at three: nobody was there. There was no reason for us to be there
that early, we had no competition. Still, we had stopped at a twenty-four hour
market and we had breakfast to occupy us (breakfast means some salami sticks,
pop, and cheese sticks) (I’ll clarify, I got salami, Aryeh got cheese sticks,
and we sat on opposite sides of the alley in order to abide by the rules of
kashrut).
The old city was empty, quiet, and beautiful. It was
incredible overlooking the sleeping city of Jerusalem from outside the walls of
the old city; it was so amazing we were inspired to toast to our amazing year
and the opportunity to be in such an incredible place (we toasted pop, salami,
and cheese…we still laugh about it).
You’d think the best part of the night was getting the ring
half off after all that waiting. You’d be wrong. After about half an hour of
sitting, just the three of us, a very drunk man came walking up the street. In
his jeans, button down shirt, and fedora, he looked quite American and I guess
we must have, too (or he was just really drunk) because he bent over and tried
talking to us. He began by reaching for Aryeh’s hand: Aryeh took his hand, but
pulled away when the guy tried to kiss it. The man insisted, ‘no no, it’s ok,’
and a very nervous Aryeh let this stranger kiss his hand. The man, who later
told us his name was Meir, crouched down, looked at the three of us, and began
spouting out praises for Hashem and the Torah, comparing the Torah to a movie
script that is each of ours ‘to direct for the public in our own way.’ Maybe he
was just on another level (or, again, very drunk) but he attempted explaining
that same point for thirty minutes! I thought I got it after the first time, but
it is hard to be sure with all the subtle laughing that was taking place. Then
something happened, Meir said something really profound. After getting up,
staggering over a bit, then sitting back down, asking for a light, and deciding
to stick around a bit longer, Meir asked us if we were about nineteen, twenty
and then proceeded to tell us that he’d do anything to have the experience we
were having: to have the opportunity to spend an extended period time in
Israel, learning, volunteering, living. He then continued to tell us we were
all perfect and that he loved us (we decided he probably wasn’t drunk any
longer; this guy we met out of nowhere clearly really must have loved us in all
our perfection. He did say it about seven times). When Meir finally left, we
really missed him, especially since we had about another forty minutes before
the store opened. I called my dad to pass some time and told him about our
meeting with Meir. My dad asked me, ‘are you sure he was real?’ Aryeh, Moshe,
and I decided that we met Elijah the Prophet that Pesach, drunk on the streets
of the old city at four in the morning. There’s really no other explanation.
The rest of the morning was pretty routine; we watched
Moulin Rouge for about forty minutes (right up to the Elephant Love Song
Medley), got the ring, stopped by Aroma for ice coffee for breakfast, Moshe
left to catch a bus, and Aryeh and I went to nap at his grandparents place
until about three in the afternoon. Productive day.
No comments:
Post a Comment