Next Friday I have a big tour planned for the Mahane Yehuda market (you better come or you're one of those people who hides from the camera - so know in advance not to come) along with a character who I hope won't cancel at the last minute, as happened this week. After the surprising cancellation, I went down to Bnei Brak to see how the Bnei Brakites spend Shabbat Eve, without a market, without color, how and where they buy watermelons, and how they take their shopping home if there's no light rail. Join me.
""Fast, quick! Fast!" I look back a little in wonder. The name has never left me, but in the heart of Bnei Brak? And indeed, in the car, sat Spitzer, the husband of... and an amazing personality in his own right. "How are you?" he began with a question, and I tried to understand who he was waiting for in the air-conditioned car. I didn't get an answer, but Avraham, who arrived, asked to join the picture and publish it. Maybe at his age he would find a match. We made the effort.
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On the corner of Yona Street and Rabbi Akiva Street, there is a distribution of fruits, vegetables and challah every Friday. They even give money to the families of the Abrechim there. Everything is run by a family that is full of kindness, sweet as honey. They send most of the products to the homes. When they saw me taking pictures, they stood around their father and said to him: Smile, they are taking pictures of you. He smiled, blessed me with many blessings, and said: "If you have a boring Friday, you are welcome to help us too.".
A stroller in Bnei Brak is used for everything - not just taking children to kindergarten. In most of the pictures, the shopping that the children did at the grocery store or supermarket was loaded onto a stroller, and voila, there's no taxi, no hassle and no expense, the shopping arrives home safely.
""Mincha! Mincha!". Itzkowitz Synagogue. It's 1:45 PM. Who will pray now? I wonder to myself. I go in to join the minyan, and behold, all the rooms are full of worshippers. And outside - in the middle of the 6th - the voice of the gabbai is heard continuing to call another minyan for the mincha prayer.
When we remember on Friday afternoon that we need to complete parts of a purchase for Shabbat, an argument begins at home: Who will go down to buy the rest? The boy in the picture went down to buy a large pack of toilet paper. On his way back, the sun beat down on his head. I photographed him in all shapes: with the package on his head, on his shoulders, until it found a home on his back. And that's what they say: To each his own touch.
Not only in Jerusalem: In Bnei Brak too, mothers apparently need the quiet while cleaning and cooking, and fathers go downstairs with the children for ice cream and popsicles. The surprising difference: in Bnei Brak, they also do it in a hat and suit.
From the car window I recognize the pile of salads and kugel on the buggies. One photo, trying to improve my position to photograph the child waiting with the salads and kugel to put in the car, but the father is already arriving and everything is hidden. I wouldn't eat this hummus, cooked in the heat of Bani Barki, but I was ready to order the kugel all Shabbat.
To return home: This phrase has a very big meaning in Bnei Brak. The young men who returned home to their mother on Friday night to fill a suitcase with all the household goods, do laundry, iron, and then at noon quickly return to the yeshiva. And so, in all of Bnei Brak, suitcases on wheels are dragged, as yeshiva boys make their way back to the yeshiva.
''Going home' is a concept that also exists among young couples. On Friday afternoons, you can see them loading up the entire house, plus a huge cart, plus bags of salads. And all for a day's journey. If the Israelites had left Egypt like that, we would still be packing there today.
And on a city street, from all sides, like an unknown signal, I see everyone running in a hurry with bags to their homes, returning from their last shopping, the completion, or as I really prefer to think: everyone is in a great hurry because they bought popsicles and are now running to put them in the freezer, before everything turns into raspberries in a bag.
""What do you have under the cardboard?" I asked the boy. "Nothing!" he replied. "So why the cardboard?" I pressed. "I need it for my chicks, and I can't take it on my bike," he replied with a smile. As he pedaled away on his bike, I shouted at him not to forget to bring them plenty of water. I hope he heard.
I slowed the car. He's in front of me, completely engrossed in a Shabbat flyer. I click on pictures, and he looks up. "You're not allowed to read during prayer," he says apologetically, wishes Shabbat Shalom, and continues home.
The Vizhnitz Bakery is a story in itself. The children there are like inside themselves. Artists come to the place to buy challah for Shabbat. When I arrived, the singer Moshik Afia came out. I photographed the late Shimshon Dekowitz here in a picture that I always remembered - and he would say: "You couldn't take a picture of me with a huge challah." On Friday, a cute boy, Meir by name, was hanging around there. He was choosing a huge challah intended for Shabbat. His father was filling a huge box with dozens of challahs. "Do you eat all of these?" I ask the boy. And he answers: "No! We share!" Minutes later, we see him and his father at the Hatzvi Bakery, and later at the Ya'la on Rabbi Akiva Street. Friday's grace.
And speaking of the Viznitz Bakery, the video where you'll see what these challahs are called was filmed after the workers saw that I couldn't film the attack on the challahs, because they were so hot that people were just dancing with passion with them. But we couldn't pass up a picture of Samson, taking a juicy challah with his kippah - a Bnei Brakite 'Iron Dome'.
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The only person who can say about Vizhnitz challah, "I eat challah from home," is the dear man in the picture: Moshe Stein of Elad (right). His father is the owner of the bakery. He is the only one who takes the challah, doesn't pay - and also indulges.
And right at the exit, with each challah individually wrapped in a paper bag, he passes me quickly, as if afraid that their warmth will dissipate, rushing and running down Ezra Street, then a short phone call. He answers - and then he is seen again in the bakery, adding more challah to the stock, apparently guests have arrived. I'm sure they enjoyed the challah.
Bnei Brak's proximity to the sea leads some of its residents, mainly young men, to dress more casually - and go to the beach. Friday experiences that Jerusalemites will never know or understand: What's the fun in drinking beer by the sea, and eating grapes with grains of sand?
Towards the end of the quick tour of Bnei Brak, I was intrigued to see the Ponevezh Yeshiva Hall. I went up the hill, and there I found a Beit Midrash with about twenty people sitting and studying. I took a few pictures. Suddenly a guy came up to me and said: "You can take pictures of those who are sleeping in the Beit Midrash. There's nothing to be ashamed of. They studied a whole vigil last night to free the kidnapped, and now they're still in the Beit Midrash, falling asleep on the stand." And for those who don't know: there's no air conditioning in the Beit Midrash. The heat there is almost the same as the heat on the street.
And on Jerusalem Street, on a cart that came out of Belza Street, boxes of wine from Hebron are lined up in perfect order. I stop again. When he noticed that I was taking pictures, he just said to me: "In honor of the holy Sabbath, Git Sha'abbas.".
And how will you take two watermelons with you? Have you thought about it? So here in the pictures is a young man trying to solve this in an orderly manner, with bags. But the weight of the watermelons was overwhelming, they tore the bags, and he had to stop every few meters. In the end, we offered him a ride home. He refused. He preferred to bother with Shabbat's watermelons.
The son of the rabbi of Mazuz is hurrying down the street with his granddaughter. They are on their way to their grandfather's, for Shabbat, like every Friday. "Grandpa, they took a picture," says the granddaughter. He pauses the phone call for a moment. "We're not important at all, I don't think they'll want to take a picture of us. A lesson in humility, Benny Baraki.
And in a side beit midrash on Rabbi Dessler Street, the gabbai stands, adjusting the air conditioning temperature in honor of Shabbat, while in the background the voice of a rabbi sitting in the corner of the synagogue, studying the mishnayot of Tractate Shabbat, echoes. I didn't think to find anything else.
The children walk with their father dressed in Shabbat clothes. The Shabbat atmosphere hovers over them, signaling that my time in Bnei Brak is coming to an end. Not to mention the heat and high humidity. One picture, and I hurry to close the car window - so the air conditioning won't escape.
The one who accompanies me through all the streets and alleys is photographer Yaakov Cohen. Now he takes me to Rimon Street, on the edge of the city - where popsicles are sold from a truck every Shabbat evening. Dozens of people crowd the truck, and the popsicle seller disappears into the multitude of people and children surrounding him. One picture was enough for me.
That's how I got to the tramfiada that would take me back to Jerusalem. In the tramfiada, young men hitchhike, hurrying to the yeshiva. Buses pass empty at the stations, but they prefer the fast ride. On the other hand, other stations are full to bursting with yeshiva young men waiting for the bus that will take them to their desired destination. I have no complaints about them, I would do exactly the same as them. I just want to call you, dear readers: If you see them in the tramfiada, stop for them, take them to Jerusalem with joy. And for those who are wondering - I rode the bus for a change.
