Wednesday, December 30th, 2020

The sandwich shop is already closed by the time I get to the city square. On the plaza next to the Great Synagogue, one door of the ice cream shop is open. People are standing outside. As I approach, I see that two of them are handing money to the third. He ducks inside and brings out cones for them. He sees me standing there. “Can I help you?” Can I have a sahlab? “Large or small?” Large. We had been speaking Hebrew. He switches to English. “Yes. One moment. You must stand outside the door or police come.” He goes inside and mixes it up while I dig out coins to pay him. He comes out and hands me the sahlab, with all the toppings on it. I hand him exact change and head over to a bench to eat. My family is doing an international text chat. I have to keep putting the cup down to tap my screen. Behind me, an ambulance is set up as a bloodmobile. Its lights spin silently. Reflections of the red beacons swoop across my phone. When I’m done, I throw out my cup and head home. I have walked this path hundreds of times. I miss a turn somewhere. I get lost. I know roughly where I am, but not where the streets go. I follow the one I’m on. I figure that I’m headed northeast. I’m headed south. The road ends on the street with the ice cream shop, about a block away. I know where I am now. I head home again. This time, I get it right.