A Friday market during Ramadan is characterized by an unusual silence from the Arab vendors, who are breaking their fast. The shouting is almost inaudible, the stalls where the Arab vendors are closing earlier than usual, and the market suddenly seems a bit quiet and lifeless. But despite everything, it was very interesting at the market this week.
He bought flowers, haggling at length over the price, and the saleswoman - in an attempt to convince him to buy - kept saying: "It's kosher, it's Shmita," and Howe tried to lower the price again. When he finished, he saw me concentrating on his photo and said: "At least take a picture with the flowers...""
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I've photographed them before on Fridays at the market. Dov Eichler (right) claims that this is already a flood, but I explained to him that I haven't published his photos on the last few Fridays... He agreed to be photographed only with musician Meir Weiner (center), who agreed to be photographed only with Israel Hirshman (left). Had Gadya..
While waiting for his friends to finish shopping, he placed the bag with the pita on his head and waited. Someone from the side shouted to him: "You look like the chief baker, birds will soon peck your head off." He did not remain indifferent - and replied: "If I am the chief baker, you are Pharaoh...""
""Wait a minute, take another picture, we weren't organized. He wasn't laughing." I didn't understand which one they were emphasizing wasn't laughing, but I took another picture. As you can see, they don't exactly look like they're laughing. It turned out they'd been waiting for a long time for a friend who "just went to get a drink.".
I stood patiently in front of the English Cake shop to take a picture of the man who would appear in the next picture. In the meantime, these two yeshiva boys decided to ask me hundreds of questions about the work, the pictures, and who I was waiting for to come out of the shop. After I explained everything, they also asked for a picture, but this was their reaction when I took their picture.
Inside the English Cake, I recognized Yanki Mayzlish, the VP of Marketing for the Kol Berama radio station. This time he was shopping with the whole family. Just as they were about to leave, the saleswoman tried to figure out who he was hanging out with, that everyone around him was like that. She was surprised to hear from him that they were all his children.
After he recognized me taking pictures, well, he didn't exactly recognize me alone, his girls leaked that there was someone taking pictures across the street, he came to me across the road, told me that every Friday he was at the market. Then he met his friend from Petah Tikva. "Take pictures of him too," said Maizlish, "so that everyone can see that he is an ardent supporter of the radio.".
In the covered market, the shops were already closing. At first, I saw the first father with his child crossing my path. When I raised my camera, he said, "My son has already done halakhah, there's no need to take pictures." I waited, and then the second father arrived with his child, who had heard the conversation, and laughed: "My son hasn't done halakhah yet, you can take pictures..." While laughing at the exchange, I managed to take pictures of both of them, at least from behind.
Benny Machlab, the spokesman and servant of the Gra Berland, arrived to eat a quality fruit salad at the market. While his friends were waiting for glasses filled with all the goodness of the land, he offered his friends a taste of the dwindling glass. When he saw me, he also offered me one and recommended: "This is really delicious" - and served me a slice of cold watermelon. It was lucky that I hurried. Otherwise, I would have eaten all the fruit for him.
From a distance they stood and argued. It seemed really interesting. I took a picture and got closer to hear what they were talking about. It turned out that the question was: When does the Torah reading start tomorrow at the synagogue, so that he can come with the husband reading. Hopefully they got up on time.
The sound of the lock gave him away locking the doors of his shop, his clothes were soaked in paint, and I almost didn't recognize him when I passed by. When he took the bags and started walking home, I told him: It's nice that you have a picture and a painting of Rabbi Ovadia on the shop, but when you open the doors for a workday - you don't see anything. He smiled: "I've already thought of everything, that's why the second painting of Rabbi Ovadia was ordered right on the wall opposite the shop. I see it all day," he said, and greeted me with a "Shabbat Shalom.".
The Shabbat heralds began their rounds in the market, warning the shops to close. The yeshiva boys, when they saw me taking pictures, said: "We've finished the watermelon, we're already moving to the yeshiva.".
The snack bar closed earlier than expected, and they were surprised to discover that the snack bar owner had kindly abandoned all the fruit boxes for the afternoon snack. "Why are you bringing more?" they asked their friend, who was carrying the fruit baskets with both hands. "So that everyone has enough for the apartment." And they replied: "Then you carry this, because the shopping is already too heavy for us." When I left, I saw him dragging behind them, keeping his word, carrying the fruit to pamper his apartmentmates.
""A challah for Shabbat takes a good picture with an old, high-quality wine," the salesperson told me when I went in with another friend to buy a drink. So I bent down to take a picture, to do my duty, but then the salesperson asked: "Publish it, publish it, so they can see how beautiful it is.".
""Take a picture of me too," he said, quickly pushing himself into the picture. With the beer spilling out of the bottle? I asked. "Yeah, sure, take a picture now." I took a picture. "Let me know when it's published," he asked. You're welcome to tell him.
""Take a quick picture of me, because I'm in a real hurry," he said. Give me a melody of joy and I'll take a picture of you, I said, just tell me where you're in a hurry. So he played Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach's "Our Father Is Still Alive," then said he was rushing to celebrate Shabbat with soldiers at the Hurva Square in the Jewish Quarter. "Come sometime, there'll be plenty to take pictures of. It's almost every Shabbat," he said. I made a note of it.
""Mahir Hima, have you filmed this yet?" I didn't understand what they were talking about. To me, it looked like one of our cousins at the Ramadan prayer in the heart of the market. Until I saw Channel One's reporter, Itzik Halperin, bending down to pick up none other than Mendy Grozman, a Makor Rishon reporter, who told him: "I kneel before you, king of the media.".
Slowly, while singing and humming together the Shabbat songs from the garden, especially the song "Today is Friday, tomorrow is Shabbat.. Tomorrow is Shabbat.. Holy," they walked heel to toe from the market toward the car.
And Yanki Mayzlish, who I already thought had left the market, was suddenly surprised when I discovered him riding on the back of journalist Itzik Halperin, who was lying on the market floor to capture frames at unusual angles.
'The 'Shabbat Warnings' had already made sure to close all the stores. One of them went into the grocery store and took a signed note from the grocery store owner. When I tried to find out what it was about - both of them were speechless. Later, someone told me that it was an agreement between the store owners and the 'Shabbat Warnings': they close the stores early - and their names are passed on for blessing to the rebbes and rabbis.
She jumped from side to side. Every time I tried to take a picture of her, she turned her head, right and left. Only when she passed me and continued to peek over her shoulder, I waited for her to turn her head, so I could take a picture. But I didn't have time to take a picture of her peeking. This is what's left.
""Look, he posted me once in Haredim 10," he pointed at me. I smiled. Then he asked: "Take a picture of us again, so we can see the picture from the market. The previous picture was a great picture. Let's hope this week too.".
Tsiki Frank, who I'm used to seeing always wearing a scarf, arrived on his bike straight from a mikveh in the Jerusalem area, coming to do some last-minute shopping for Shabbat. "Don't forget to bring me the CD," he said. I told him that, God willing, next week.
On the side of the market, on a stool surrounded by many friends, sat "Sarah," not eating and not exactly interested in what was happening, certainly not in the pictures, until I arrived and it became clear to me: she had recently converted to Islam. When I responded with a grin, she took out her documents and said that she had already been to the Temple Mount this morning, and was now in the market for Shabbat.
Tabloid journalist Yoni Kedem arrived at the market all smiles. "I'm not married," he emphasized to me, "so the flowers are not for my wife." So who are they for? He preferred to respond with a broad smile, rather than answer the question.
The shopping was quick. In a few minutes they finished buying challah, grains, drinks, and a large watermelon. Then there was an argument over who would carry it home. At home, I'm sure, there was no argument over who would eat it.
I finished the market and hurried back home. On the balcony of the house on Bar Ilan Street, after many months of no traffic, the landlady was seen waiting patiently and calmly for Shabbat to come. I hope that next week I will find her and her husband together on the balcony.
