Saturday, September 12th, 2020

The Sabbath cafe has returned to paper menus. The scannable icons are gone. The tables on the patio are also much closer together. I’m surprised at these changes. Word has it that another major lockdown will start next week. The indoor seating and patio will shut down again. Maybe they figure that they might as well set things back to how they were. A server whom I don’t know brings me the English-language menu without asking. I decide to be a bit extravagant. I probably won’t be here again for a few weeks. I try to order the Israeli Breakfast. I can’t. They now only make it before noon. So be it. I order the shakshuka again. I want to order an American-style iced coffee, without all that milk. After some negotiation, I get a large cold Americano over ice. It’s just right. A couple with a young child comes in after me. The server brings out a high chair. The couple cleans it themselves, using wipes from a container in the back of their stroller. Another woman talks to people at the next table. She stands so close to me that all I can see of her is her round bare midriff. A bandage covers her navel. A metal stud sticks through it. Near the patio entrance, two large dogs lie under a table. Men in muscle shirts sit in the chairs. The two dogs play with each other and lap up water from a plastic container between them. When other dogs walk past with their humans, the two dogs bark. The men pat them on their sides and ask them to calm down. One of the men sees that his dog’s leash has gotten tangled around its leg. He squats next to his chair, lifts the dog’s foot off the ground, and slides the leash off of it. The dog licks the man’s face as he rises. The man and the dog sit back as they were. Another man dressed in white, with a white yarmulke, dangling tzitzit, and a white-covered prayer book, walks past the cafe. Neither the dogs nor the men notice him. Our eyes meet. He nods toward me. I nod back. He walks on.