Tuesday, December 29th, 2020

Early in the morning, toward the front of the city square, older people sit and read their newspapers. Many of the papers are in Hebrew. Many appear to be in Russian. A man hawking free newspapers tries to hand me one. I decline. Despite the lockdown, most shops are open. The clothing stores are closed. My favorite hummus joint is taking the opportunity to do renovations. Their menu had covered its front wall below the counter. It’s gone. The wall now has attractive wood-like paneling. The shop with the odd sandwiches and good sahlab is open. I get a coffee and a cheese burekas. I had a routine blood test at my health plan’s clinic this morning. I fasted overnight. I’m famished. I take my breakfast to a chess table and eat it there. When I’m done, I head to work. On the street my office is on, I pass a kindergarten. Over a fence just shorter than my eye level, I see a woman standing alone. She wears a grey cable-knit sweater and a black skirt. She shivers as if cold. Her cigarette has burned down close to the filter. She is staring into her phone. She may be crying. The loudspeaker over her head plays a neverending version of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.”