![\"IMG_3769\"](\"https:\/\/ch10.co.il\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/06\/IMG_3769.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\r\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/a>\u00a0\""Get down, I'm downstairs." That's what he said on the phone without much explanation. I just think about the steamy heat, and start to sweat. When I arrived, I was surprised: I'm supposed to wear a helmet, and get on the chassis of the attached motorcycle. I felt like the old men of old, especially with the fact that this sitting position gives you a special angle of view than ever.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0We go up Bar Ilan Street towards the market. People stare at us like we're the seventh wonder of Jerusalem: an extinct motorcycle with two stars and a camera on it. At Geula they stopped to investigate us, and when they saw the camera they showed off their acting skills by asking to be photographed on the motorcycle.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0Among the alleys leading to the market, we come across a cart abandoned in the middle of the passage. The girl who did the shopping hurried home with some of the bags, but the cart buckled under the weight. Yehuda gets off the motorcycle, warning me not to move so I don't fall over, picks up the cart and carries the shopping into the house. Ah, a righteous man!<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0We carefully squeeze and exit narrower places, and then Benny Machlab appears in front of us, riding a motorcycle. He's rushing, as always, somewhere to help, but if he thought he'd be satisfied with just saying "Shabbat Shalom" to Yehuda and escaping, he'll be surprised to see that we managed to photograph him through the motorcycle's mirror.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> We park. Get out. I move forward, and then he directs my attention toward the motorcycle: "Pay attention, everyone wants to take a picture on it." And I quickly look around and indeed discover a couple, the husband sitting on the motorcycle and his wife taking a picture of him. I didn't have to, and I took a picture too.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> \""I'm staying with my brother in Beitar Illit on Shabbat. What do you recommend I bring him?" he turned to the salesman - and the salesman, who knew neither him nor his brother, recommended a liter-sized bottle of Trump. "It's delicious and will last you and the whole family the entire Shabbat." He bought it. I hope someone else enjoys it.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> Not far from there we meet the cute couple. They call him in for a chat, and tell him to convince me to stop doing the market, because everyone here already knows everything. "Maybe move to a new place," they tried to recommend. Yehuda, in his good mood, tells them he'll talk to me about it later. "Ask the surfers if they want a new place," he suggests to me - and I, having a hard time deciding - share my dilemma with you.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> In a quick conversation with one, who tries to escape the camera and talk to Yehuda about things that are at the heart of the world, he moves away, exchanges information with him and promises that "everything will be fine, we will organize ourselves and take care of it.".<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> And as you saw, with the cap, he became an attraction in the market. So much so that friends who had known him for years suddenly became kosher supervisors - checking to see if there was still a kippah under the cap. "So what's the cap for?" his naive friend asked him.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> The Gulbenzitz and Reichenberg families also came to the market this week. And he, who recognized them from previous weeks, asked to be photographed together. They couldn't refuse.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0Immediately afterwards, Reichenberg Sr. asked me to take a picture of his little one, so that they could see at home that he was an excellent babysitter. The baby's sweet smile won my heart.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0Ari Gelhar, a former Maariv journalist, was passing through the market with a pile of Shabbat newspapers and was stopped by Yehuda, who was eager to find out all the sources. Gelhar, who remained connected to his sources, was forced to surrender to Yehuda, who checked and found that all the newspapers were housed there in one apartment: Hapeles, HaMevasher, and HaModia.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0Further along the market sat a professional oud player playing the Sabbath songs in their traditional tune. When I looked for where Yehuda had disappeared to, I discovered that he had found solace in the sounds of Mizrahi music.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> And here's another acquaintance he recognized from the previous sections. Also babysitting at the market. A handshake and a request for a photo together.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> At one of the market entrances, we meet his friends again, taking pictures with Friday's beer. "Where are you on Shabbat?" he is asked, and he quickly answers that he is on Shabbat with his brother at Betar. "Wait, and if you want to come too - you are welcome.".<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0In the Jahanun Bar, a few friends are sitting down to eat. Among them is Israel Amar. Yehuda approaches them to start a conversation about the sector's problems, but is told that on Fridays they don't talk about politics in the market. "People come here to have fun and have 'toamiya'." Minutes later, they notice that they are all wearing the same shirt. And that's worth a separate photo.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> The pictures on the shelf caught our eye. A new store has opened: huge pictures painted by artists on canvas. He bought a big, beautiful one. He wants a sunset, boats, and a bit of sky in his office.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> Rabbi Laufer is known to dozens of yeshiva youth who passed under his tutelage. He is a great educator. After three years in which they did not see each other, here in the market they met again. It turns out that Rabbi Laufer returned to Jerusalem after a long exile, and Y. - who was happy to see him - wished him a good return. Welcome back to Jerusalem.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> Curiosity burns within him. The market is just part of the experience, and when Yehuda recognizes the traveler, the one taking pictures of the artists, he will check him out. "'He's a rare videographer, maybe you'll take him to work for you?'" says Y., a talent hunter.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0If last week we wrote about the little red riding hood on the cute boy's head, this week it starred\u00a0The dome<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>On the head of a friend of Y. - Shlomi Salem. A nice man who left a tip for buying good beer at the market.<\/span><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> \""Wait, wait," Y. stopped me as we hurried toward the liquor store. "I need a newspaper for Saturday." He stood for a long time by the newsstand, and in the end chose to take the English magazine 'Zman'.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> At the liquor store, after he had chosen a quality drink for Shabbat and checked out most of the alcohol bottles, some yeshiva students stopped him and began consulting with him about what they had loaded into the cart for their own Shabbat gathering. "And what should I mix with the XL?" they asked. He explained well.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0\""Wow, look who I see here." Brother of Yaakov Lederman, the photographer. It turns out they have another common denominator - riding motorcycles. They exchanged experiences and routes, planned the next routes and determined breathtaking locations.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0Avinoam Kutsher is one of the leaders of the Merkaz HaRav Yeshiva.\u00a0also<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>He rushes home on Friday. And so, after a handshake, he recommended a topic for an article to Yehuda and me for the upcoming Shabbat.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0We sit down on the side. The market is already emptying, and as I'm taking pictures, I see Yehuda defending himself. What happened? The owner of the basta, armed with a long stick, chases him away. "Go home, it's already Shabbat. Why are you taking pictures?!" All the explanations didn't help. We had to leave the market.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a>\u00a0We returned to the motorbike that was waiting on the side of the market. I sat on it again, and from the adjacent boat I photographed the people hurrying home. The pictures, from this angle, maybe\u00a0not<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>They come out successful, but bring the true feeling of the arrival of Shabbat.<\/span><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n<\/a> Then, a sudden stop. "I just go in and out." The tent of the Gur Rebbe. Y. goes in, I take a picture, on the way out he gives charity with a kind look, and then he turns to me: What are the names of the kidnapped? I said Tehillim for them. A Gur Hasid who was there gave him the names, hoping they got out safely.<\/p>\r\n<\/a><\/p>\r\n