And there was heel Listen, these judges... On the eve of the Akev affair, I'm busy with my own business. I get a message on WhatsApp. "Did you hear? Uncle Schwamenfeld, the radio announcer on Kols Barama, wrote about you." About me? I asked. "Yes, come in, read his status on Facebook." I went in. He wrote that he was currently in the Mahane Yehuda market, after seeing the photos from the market that I take every week and coming to see the shouting. And indeed, he confirms, there is no such experience.
I felt the need to go to the market, even though it was already really, really late. There's nothing like the atmosphere of the market, but who knows if there will be anything left to photograph.
Is there anything left? You will judge the outcome.
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Have you read how much I rush to the market, anxious to get there before I find myself there alone? And then there's a traffic jam. Murphy's Law works against me. So what do you do when you get stuck in traffic? Take pictures. And what do I see in the picture? They're in a buggie. They're probably going to have a fun Shabbat. Good luck to them, I wished them. And then the traffic jam cleared.
He stands and takes pictures in the market. A quiet guy, I don't even know his name, but he has an Instagram (surely one of the readers can update the account name). I follow him, he has amazing work there. He is busy taking pictures until his sturdy friend, who was standing next to him, draws his attention to the fact that I am taking pictures of him. He didn't give up, insisted, chased after me, and immortalized me in the market talking to journalist Moshe Galantz. Thanks for the picture.
No, they didn't play Carlebach, but fresh, bouncy, and captivating music, with a youthful, fast tempo, song after song, for their enjoyment. I arrived just in the last few minutes. Because after the picture, they cheered up, said to each other, "It's almost Shabbat" - and dispersed on their way.
In a blue shirt that shines from a distance, I saw him arguing on the phone, not listening to the market, completely busy, as it sounds, organizing an event. I take a picture of him, he notices me. Neta Katz, what are you doing here in Jerusalem? I ask. "We came for a formation meeting, for a course for haredi commanders in the army. Shh...shh...," I tell him. Don't say it out loud or they'll yell "Haredik" at you. He laughs and says: "I'm not afraid, it would actually be interesting.".
""Make room, I'm in a hurry to sit down, the dough is over, we can go home," and so in the chorus he repeats the words, time after time, and makes his way home, towards Shabbat.
I took a picture of him with the flowers in his hand. He turned around, I asked: Why two bouquets of flowers? He said: "Until you ask about the flowers, ask why two iced coffees?" Until I noticed the collection of iced coffees that they both hold in their hands. And what was the answer? "Take a picture, take a picture, maybe they'll tell you.".
At the same pace, at the same walking angle, even their tassels fluttered in the wind in unison with their wigs. The picture was amazing. It seemed as if the market had come to a standstill. Then they both said to me in unison: "Shabbat Shalom. We are not twins.".
On the side, a little girl was just holding the beer for her father while he held the child. She knew it was forbidden to drink and kept holding the bottle in the air, so that it would be taken from her. That's what comes with a good upbringing at home.
Wait, isn't that the redhead from the websites? Someone tells me that I stopped to talk to him. I turned around, and I recorded one and only photo of him without a cigarette in his hand. Eli Schlesinger on a market tour, minutes before closing, looking for kernels for Shabbat.
As you leave the open market, Chaim Wiesel's little bar is closed. But what attracted me most was the Star of David that stood proudly above the window arches. Later, I discovered that the entire length of the street in the neighborhood that Montefiore built had windows like this.
In one of the market alleys, in a side bar next to the market synagogue called 'Beit Zebul', two people, one Haredi and the other secular, sat and had a conversation to draw closer to their Father in Heaven. Given the incitement against the Haredi sector this past week, this image was a perfect way to end this murky week.
The children of the 'Soldiers of Messiah' camp don't rest for a moment. The boy, who came to the market because he had a day off, helped the stall sell the most beautiful umbrellas in honor of Shabbat.
Not far from the tiny soldier of the Messiah, another soldier of the armies of God stands, looking at the one adorned with tefillin that his father had placed for him. This image also had to be immortalized, just because of the child's gaze.
From afar, with a Bluetooth headset, he went on a market tour, surrounded by his family team of girls - his wife and daughters surrounding him on all sides. He was engrossed in his phone, not paying attention to the pictures, until they drew his attention. And he immediately, without hesitation, waved his hand in greeting as if he were the President of the United States, and continued on his way surrounded by his entourage.
The soldiers of the army of God entered the market last Friday to conquer every corner. That's how they caught the father of little Yakir Bezalel. Yakir stood on the sidelines, excited, watching the wonderful spectacle with wide eyes.
On the balcony overlooking the market, with the entire floor filled with empty beer bottles, he came out and began shouting at the passersby: "Shabbat today, Sabbath today, Sabbath today," and from the only bistro that was open across from him they replied: "We're closing, closing, that's our closure, Sabbath today.".
Then, fifteen minutes before the siren, they descended to the market from the house above the market, with drums in one hand and low chairs in the other, andThey, smiling and laughing, began to play in honor of Shabbat. A spontaneous Shabbat reception with passersby, three dogs, a man with a parrot on his shoulder, and everyone together sang "Lecha Dodi" in a traditional tune.
And when the impromptu Shabbat reception ended, the brother and sister hurried home, with him urging her to quicken her steps, to hurry. Because the two had lingered too long as spectators from the sidelines, at this different and special Shabbat reception.
The market is already really emptying out, I go up to a friend who lives above the market to help him with his belongings, to give him a lift to a friends apartment. From above I see this spectacle, of those hurrying with the open siddur, dressed in Shabbat clothes, the peace of Shabbat on their faces, walking to the synagogue while loudly singing the Song of Songs, which is attributed to Solomon.
The sun is already gliding over the treetops, and a whole family is hurrying toward the Western Wall on a long walk. "Git Chabas," they wish me, and ask me to send them the picture. I made no commitment.
At the end of Prophets Street, a father and son hail a taxi. They are in a great hurry to get to their destination before Shabbat. All of King George Street is filled with taxis just minutes before Shabbat. They get in and the taxi starts driving quickly. I also continue on my way.
I arrive in the city center by car, in front of the Great Synagogue. The pigeons calm down from their flight. The dome of the synagogue is adorned with special colors that only exist on Shabbat in Jerusalem. In a few minutes, Shabbat will begin. There is also a typical Shabbat silence in the car.
And far from where I live, the entire Jewish people, each and every one on their way to the synagogue. A Shabbat atmosphere on their faces. They talk leisurely, walking to the synagogue. Come, come, Shabbat the Queen.
I actually arrive at my destination in Paris Square. I drop off the people with me, and seconds before I even finish the section, I see him holding the shtreimel in his hand. He is not used to the Israeli air and heat, and walks around with a clean towel in his hand, wiping away the sweat, so that he can arrive at the synagogue calm and refreshed.
Good Saturday.
