Friday, September 4th, 2020

A boy sits at the table in the back of the store where I pick up the packages. Item 435 arrived yesterday for me. He shuffles through the box with numbers in that range. He doesn’t see it. The shopkeeper comes to the back. “Look again. For this guy, it will be a book.” He pauses. “Wait, why are you here? You picked up package 435 yesterday.” I hadn’t. I show him that I have the text message saying that it’s waiting, and that I don’t have the message that I would automatically get when I would pick it up. “No, you were here yesterday and --” He stops. He bends down and picks up the package from the pile on the floor where he puts small items for known customers. He hands it to the boy and stomps away. The boy asks for my ID number and signature. He gives me the package. As I pass the shopkeeper on the way out of the store, he nudges me with his elbow. I think he smiles. I stop into the barber shop and make an appointment for a haircut. I need one badly. The elastic straps of my masks are getting tangled with my hair. The barber welcomes me warmly. As I’m about to leave, he calls over to me. “Joe, take a drink of water before you leave. No, You must. It’s very hot outside. The cooler is here. The cups are here. And please say hello to your family for me.” I take the water and thank him. Part way around the plaza, two musicians play live in the shade of a large umbrella. The drummer is very good. The man beside him strums his guitar and sings “Fly Me to the Moon.” They segue into a Hebrew song that I’ve heard but can’t identify. I wander on. At the nuts-and-seeds shop about a block away, I restock on coffee and other items. When I had been there before, they had had open bins of their nuts, dried fruits, and candies. Most of the other similar stores that I’ve seen still have the open bins. At this one, however, everything is in bags and clear plastic containers. That may be a good idea. I get a challah at the bakery, then pick up apples and yams at the produce shop. At the counter, I spot a couple of small wrapped containers of sliced pineapple. I get one of them. The cashier puts the other one with it. “You’re getting this, too. It’s only ten shekels. I don’t want to have to wonder whether anyone will buy it.” OK. He bags it all up and hands it to me. “Wait -- Did I forget to give you your change?” He had. He nods. He’s tired. He opens the register again and fishes out my change. “Here you go. Have a good Sabbath.” He sits back down on his stool behind the counter. Just for a moment, he closes his eyes.