I've heard the phrase "making a market" several times. As a result, I also wanted to experience the market.
And so, one Thursday afternoon, I found myself going to the market. Anyone who knows the market knows that on Thursdays the market is crowded. People are buying various groceries in honor of the Shabbat, vendors are advertising their wares, and amidst the night of shouting, there is also a lot of humanity hidden.
Humanity expressed in merchants who want to get rid of their wares, in order to bring a little food into their home, and in order to bring a lot of money into their savings, and perhaps also to bring a little joy to themselves and their family.
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It's just lovely to see this.
At the beginning of my stroll, I found myself drawn to the spice stand. The smell of spices is unmistakable. Among the night of smells in the market, spices stand out in their scent. As soon as I started standing by the spice stand, the vendor looked at me with eyes eager for a deal, and asked in a voice that was both rough and pleasant: "What are you buying? Soul!""
And I was so fascinated by him, I felt like a person who didn't know me was reaching out to my soul. Not just to my soul, but right into the depths of my soul.
I smiled with both embarrassment and fascination, because I was both embarrassed and fascinated, and replied: "I am so fascinated by the diverse scent of your wares.".
He didn't even say thank you, because Mrs. Zaatari's daughter had just entered the store. He immediately went to a tin box containing many grains of one of the spices, and filled a bag full of the spice with orange juice. When they had finished filling the bag, he said to her as commanded: "Take the paprika, sweetie.".
In an instant, all his charm vanished from my eyes, as I saw how, in order to sell a little spice, he would even call Mr. Zaatar himself by nicknames.
I realized that with these nicknames he was trying to buy me, so that I would buy from him, and the smell of paprika suddenly turned in my nose into the smell of injera.
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Then I went to the candy store. There, with my own ears, I heard the store owner say to one of his employees: "Bring Charlie the chocolate, cow.""
I looked for the cow at the nearest meat shop.
In the meat shop, the butcher stood with a large knife. Even before I entered, he said to me: "My eyes, what do you want? Atonement!" I looked around and wondered if the butcher was talking to me. However, through the pupils of his eyes, it seemed as if he was looking at me and only me.
But there was a small mistake because my name is not "Ayani." I wanted to point out to him that I am not called by that name. But the knife next to him and the word "Atonement" flashed before my eyes, and I was determined.
So I asked him: "What's in your merchandise?""
The butcher motioned for me with his knife to look at the cow from the candy stand. But I didn't want the cow, so I asked him again: "What else do you have to offer?" But apparently the butcher woke up that morning full of patience, so he said to me: "Dude, stop digging and tell me how many kilos to cut for you!""
And I, seeing how quickly I had gone from 'my eyes' to 'his brother', and the combination of the knife, 'atonement' and 'dig' caused a lot of pressure in my palms, turned around and went to buy fish for Shabbat.
At the fish stand, the seller stood and shouted: "Ladies and gentlemen, mullet, halibut, salmon at prices that are 'a waste of time.'".
I was so moved, both by the feminist who precedes the address "Ladies" with "Gentlemen," and by the honesty that accompanies the man in admitting that his prices are terribly expensive and that it's a waste of time to go into his store to buy. After all, self-awareness is an important thing.
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I felt very confused in the market, until I didn't know which store to go to. Then suddenly, the wine store appeared in front of me in all its glory, and I said to myself: Finally, a corner of sanity in the midst of madness. I entered the wine store, inside which stood a salesman who was pouring wine for everyone who entered. Since I was the only one entering, he also noticed me, and upon seeing me, he cleared his throat, and in his sweet voice he addressed me: "Come, honey, taste our wine.".
I tasted it, I learned from my visit to the meat shop that you can't resist.
I told him that the taste of the wine was a guarantee of my good health. But the seller, who apparently did not understand the meaning of my words, asked with the politeness typical only of a market seller: "Is the wine good or not good?""
I answered him that unfortunately my grandfather couldn't come because he was already in a world where all was good.
He told me: "You know, if he could have come, he would have come on all fours" (my grandfather didn't have a driver's license). "We sell the most expensive wine here." I began to understand that shopping at the market isn't necessarily a cheap thing.
I went to the vegetable stand to buy some tomatoes, cucumbers, and eggplant. In my ears I heard the greengrocer say to Mr. Bezalel: "There's no way you'll find it cheaper." I already realized that I was in a difficult situation, because the vegetable stand across the street was half the price.
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I went outside, wound my way through the already winding paths, and circled around the shouting waiters.
As I passed by the peanut stand, the peanut vendor called out to me: "Hey, maybe a kilo of peanuts?""
But since I am not a monkey, and I knew this after a quick glance in the mirror that confirmed my feeling, I mustered all the humanity I had and replied that I was not a monkey. He added: "You live in a movie." When I looked for the screen and couldn't find it, I began to realize that I had apparently arrived somewhere else. A person with a different dialect than I.
I turned back, and realized that I had reached a place that, for me, was the end of the road.
