After a calm week, with pleasant weather, on Shabbat evening the Jerusalem weather turned bone-chilling cold. Most people hid in their homes, huddled in their huts, and cooking Shabbat meals. But I went out to see who dared to go to the market - and indeed to go out on the street.
The first person I encountered was the publicist Avi Yosef, who was fighting the wind and dragging his little girl, after rushing to finish shopping at the market for Shabbat. I didn't want to delay him, especially because the girl seemed to be freezing. I continued on my way.
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To the side, in a gusty wind, he stood and played with gloves with their heads cut off, with pink-purple fingers, because of the cold. "Who will give me a pigeon's limb," he sang happily. What now, artist? I asked. He replied: "It may be colder outside, but much warmer in the heart.".
The characteristic of Jerusalemites in the winter is that everyone wears whatever they want and looks great. The downside - that it's impossible to recognize. And that's what happened to me after I photographed him. He turned around and said: "Don't you recognize me?" Since I couldn't, I left you the option of dealing with the identification.
From a distance, I caught sight of Yair Sharky, a Channel 2 news reporter, quickly finishing his shopping. I tried to take his picture again and again, but he was already far away from me. When I told Itzi Gefen, a friend standing nearby, about it, he quickly shouted: "Sharky." Yair immediately responded by looking back, searching in the distance for who had called his name. He would see the picture for the first time today.
With both of them wrapped in scarves, hiding their faces, they told me they had no problem having their picture taken like this. "Who will recognize us," they said to each other, smiling for the camera.
They quickly crossed the market from side to side, their baby completely wrapped up, even in a raincoat. "Where's the Shtreimel?" I asked as he passed me. "In the stroller," he replied. "Here it's best protected from the rain.".
""Give me a kilo of Rogelach and let them be warm," the boy asked the seller. The seller left the other buyers, apologizing for it. "Look at how he's dressed, he's freezing. Let him buy some and fly home immediately," the seller explained. After the boy paid, the seller warned him: "Next time, just come with a coat...""
The king of the Komzitzim, Avi Einhorn, arrived at the market at the Chabad stand to place tefillin. When he finished placing them and reciting the blessing, he broke into a melody and a song. When I asked why he was placing tefillin now and where his tefillin were, he answered in song: "To your sanctuary, give it and to the holy of holies...""
Photographer Menachem Kahane has started making a market tour almost every Friday. With a special smile, reserved only for him, he manages to photograph everything that moves and is special in the market, with his unique eye print. This time I managed to photograph him photographing the photographer.
Despite the cold and the winds, they compared which bouquet to give to whom and which was bigger immediately after the purchase. "Come, take a picture of us giving the flowers, not when we buy them," he said to me.
The cold subdued the shoppers. They left the market long before the market began to close down by the 'Shabbat announcers.' A father and his sons rushed to the synagogue - for the 'fathers and sons' of Shabbat Eve. Despite the rain, they don't give up.
'The 'Shabbat announcers' arrived covered from head to toe, protected from the winds, the cold and the rain. They didn't have to bother this time, to ask and beg, the market closed because of the cold much earlier than usual.
I left the market. I hurried home through the Sabbath square. In a few minutes the siren blared, and here was the garbage truck clearing the garbage and sweeping the street. 'Shit, shit, shit,' the Arab cleaning worker shouted at me, when he saw me taking his picture.
And in the rain, in the crazy cold and wind, the siren is already echoing in the neighborhood, at the intersection of the Schneller Camp, the men of the eruv are standing and repairing one of the wires that broke so that the eruv will be kosher on Shabbat night. I took out my camera to take a picture, and as he stretches the wire, he quotes the Mishnah to me: "Did you give ten? Did you give the eruv? Well.... go light the candle...""
It seemed to me that the children who ran ahead of him were his, he was left behind to carry the luggage to their destination, while they had already found shelter from the rain. I offered him a ride, he politely accepted and said that it was really close.
And just minutes before the Sabbath began, I saw in the car how the owner of the car offered a ride to a Hasidic Jew who was standing at the station waiting for the rain to stop. Who is like your people Israel?.
