Thursday, June 25, 2020

A row of signs in the hallway to my office reads, in English, “Fire Handicapped Women.” Fortunately, they aren’t stating Human Resource policies. They point down another hallway to the left, to an emergency exit and two restrooms. I hadn’t noticed them before. They catch my eye today. Nine of us stand around, ready for afternoon prayers. The prayer leader is late again, caught on a phone call. As he steps into the hallway, someone calls out “Ten!” Several people start into the first line of the opening psalm. Someone I don’t know stands at the back of the group. He has heard that we gather every afternoon. It’s the anniversary of the death of someone close to him. He needs to say the Mourner’s Kaddish. I am distracted during the service. I had a salad nicoise for lunch. I finished it a little too close to prayer time. As I quietly speak the parts of the liturgy that we say aloud, tuna breath bounces back at me from the fabric of my mask. I’m glad that I have another mask in the office. I can wear it on the way home. Late in the day, I’m hungry again. I don’t feel like heading down to the supermarket. Someone has left some small bags of snacks in the kitchen. It takes me some time to figure out the name drawn in Hebrew on each of the bags. They are Cheetos. Under the logo, a bubble of text says “dolphins with the flavor of cheese.” They aren’t the generic tube shape that I’m used to from the States. They might look like dolphins to someone in a fanciful mood or severely stoned. They taste the same as they always have. I used to think of Bamba as “Cheetos, but peanut flavored,” I think of these Cheetos now as “Bamba, but vaguely like cheese.” Another step in my acclimation. It’s a welcome one. I never really liked Cheetos, anyway.