I set aside today, Friday, to explore. Unfortunately, I was very stupid, stayed up late the night before, and didn't get out of bed until after 9:00 am. The result was that by the time I was up and out the door, it was already blazing hot outside. I hurried to the shuk, and did my Shabbat shopping, picking up fruit and vegetables, bread, hummus, milk, grape juice, and candles. I had eaten rather too many dates the night before, so I avoided buying any more dried fruit. I took some photographs of the delicious-looking foodstuffs available, which I plan to post online soon. My photos don't really do the shuk justice, due mostly to the fact that the shuk was packed with other people doing their Shabbat shopping, and it was very difficult for me to take good photographs while simultaneously staying out of everybody's way. Nobody minded that I was taking photographs; I think that it's somewhat typically Israeli not to get upset if someone is taking pictures of your tomatoes or eggs. Plus, all of these guys were too busy dealing with customers to get angry. Nevertheless, had I been in France, I think that someone would have started accosting me for taking photos.
If you've been to the shuk in Jerusalem, Ramleh's shuk is very similar, with some vendors selling fruits and vegetables, while others sell dried fruits and nuts, while still others sell dairy product and olives, sandals, or watches. There are even a few specialty produce stands, with vendors selling mostly different varieties of grapes, but also figs. I had to go to a tiny grocery store, that reminded me of Carrefour and of Lidl in France, to pick up a few of the items, too.
I rushed my produce back to my apartment on Yoseftal, checked my e-mail while swallowing a few of the figs that I had just bought then went exploring for the next two or three hours. I remembered to add the possessive when reciting "al ha'etz," changing what is ordinarily "al-haperot" (on the fruit) to "al-haperotah" (on it's fruit). It was kind of exciting, knowing that the produce I ate was grown in Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel. (Wow, I sound like Peninah, don't I?) Figs are particularly special because they are one of the shev'at minim, or seven species, used in the Torah to describe the agricultural richness of the Land of Israel.
I wandered around in the very hot weather to some places that I had never been before. The cityscape is fairly monotonous, and most people were too intelligent to be wandering outside in the early afternoon, unlike me. The street names here have a distinctly Zionist bent: 'Herzl," "Chaim Weizmann," "Tzahal," "Hashomer," "Hahagannah," Moshe Sharett, etc. The name of the street on which the shuk is set up is named after Jabotinsky! Also, the municipal park where the water tower is constructed is named Gan Golda, presumably named in honor of Golda Meir. There are a few nods to the Jewish diaspora, with one side street by my apartment bearing the name "Vilna." Some of the names of the businesses are a little bit over-the-top, with a shoe store being named "Na'alei Zohar," literally "Shoes of Splendor." The houses are all the same sandy color, the color of the stone quarried to build them all, presumably. I also visited the "White Tower," the remaining minaret of a very old mosque. Although the White Mosque was constructed in the 8th century by the Umayyad caliph who founded Ramleh, earthquakes in the regions regularly demolished the edifices standing in this location, so this Minaret is from the 14th century.
I passed by at least three synagogues on my route, too. None of them, unfortunately, had any written indication of what hours their respective congregations meet, or whether they are Ashkenaz, Sepharadic, Mizrachi, etc., in outlook. This is important, because there's a Karaite synagogue somewhere in the city, which I would rather not accidentally wander into on Erev Shabbat. There are also substantial religious communities from Ethiopia and India here, and in a synagogue of such a community, I would be spotted a mile away as an outsider. I'd really just like to be able to slip in under the radar, without being immediately noticed.
This city feels incredibly different from Tzfat, up in the Galilee, by the way. In Tzfat, Jewish tradition permeated the whole town, there were tons of tourists yet virtually no Arabs, and the city felt incredibly old. Here, most of the people I see are not religious Jews; there are no tourists; the city has substantial populations of Arab Christians, Russian immigrants, Ethiopian Jews, Indian Jews and various non-religious ethnic minority communities; and there are really only a couple of historic monuments. Both cities, of course, are quite poor.
Well, I hope that I manage to enjoy my Shabbat here, in a new place where I don't know the language. Unfortunately, my previous overseas experiences with new synagogues haven't always been the most enjoyable, but I'll do my best to avoid doing anything stupid (i.e. wearing shorts to synagogue). Oh, man, the siddurim are going to be all in Hebrew again...
Shabbat Shalom, cool people!
~JD
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