My People Lives

I’ve lived in Israel 13 years and have been recycling for much of that time putting plastic bottles in the bottle cages and paper in the round metal canisters around the city.

When it came to other materials like glass and aluminum I’ve always felt like I could be doing more but there hasn’t really been an outlet for that kind of recycling. I know the government is working on it and when they finally revamp the recycling system it will mean a lot to this tiny but great country yet as things go in the Holy Land, it may take a while longer.

It was ironic that the first time I tried returning beer and wine bottles to a local grocery store was just before Passover several years ago and was turned away because they said they already sold their chametz. Understanding the dilemma I threw the bottles in the regular trash planning to try it again sometime, however that sometime lasted longer than I anticipated.

A couple of months ago I did some inquiring and discovered one of the big supermarkets take glass for recycling -but not all glass, as they only accept bottles which say they are worth 25 or 30 agurot.

This was kind of strange because as far as I understand, glass is glass. It’s not like plastic which has enough varieties that much of it can’t be recycled or the costs for doing so are too high. My suspicion is that the situation has something to do with the market, corporations, and big business but I can say for sure.

Nevertheless, I brought a bunch of glass bottles to the store and asked customer service what to do with them. I was told to count how many I had, leave them in a carriage near the register, and come back for my money.

Astonished I asked, “You’re not going to count them?”

No, she wasn’t. It was a total honors system. I could have said I brought 30 bottles instead of 15 and they wouldn’t have known.

Now I know it’s just a little change we’re talking about but it meant something special to know that even in a big chain store in Israel the customer is still trusted even if the customer service could often be tweaked.

It was 7:15 in the evening when we were stopped. I was on my bike and couldn’t go anywhere. The prime minister had just spoken to a joint sessions of Congress in Washington.

Waiting…… and then BOOM!!!! The object was detonated.

And then we were on our merry way….

“…and those are our specials,” said Orit, our waitress at one of the local Sushi restaurants we were trying out for the first time.

When she finished I looked at CB (my wife) amazed.

“Wow, are you a Mossad agent?” I asked Orit.

I mean how could she remember all those options in such detail and in English.

“No, I just say them over 1000 times every night,” she replied.

Fair enough.

I ended up ordering the chicken tempura and my wife asked for sushi. Originally I also wanted sushi but opted out after seeing one of the chicken dishes pass by on the way to another customer.

Then, as we were waiting to be served, Lori, a friend of CB’s showed up with the news.

“There’s a chefetz chashud (suspisious object) outside and they’ve closed off the street,” she said describing one of those cool little tank-like robots about to check out a bag if it contained a bomb.

CB hadn’t seen one before and went to have a look with her friend while I waited to be served.

When our dinner arrived and she hadn’t returned I was in a bit of a quandary; tired and hungry. Momentarily staring at the food I began.

I tried eating slowly but my cravings took over: one piece, another, gobble, gobble, gobble.

Still, in my chicken ecstasy I wasn’t oblivious to the potentially dangerous situation outside.

Just that morning while running to the bus I was stopped by a policeman who blocked traffic at a major intersection. That little robotic tank everyone is so fond of was investigating the scene there too.

Once the robot determined the bag not to be a threat traffic resumed but took a while too loosen up. Just as I arrived at the  bus stop I caught a glimpse of the security official controlling the robot walking it back to his van.

He escorted it like a favorite donkey, a pair who’ve been together through thick and thin…

When CB returned and started on her sushi she began telling me all about Mr robot around the corner.

“It’s really cool what they do,” she said grabbing some chop sticks. “They have this arm that comes out and picks up the bag dumping all the contents on the ground.”

How they save lives is pretty amazing. So is how Israelis live with such threats…

“How’s the sushi?” I asked.

“Yum,” she said. “How’s your chicken?”

“Not bad,” I answered contemplating the moment.

Sushi, chicken, lovely couple, suspicious objects and cunning robots; It was still a peaceful evening, thank God.

Nothing changed. No lapse. Everything was completely as it should be, kind of.

(Jerusalem)

Today was a strange day.

A bomb went off at a bus stop where innocent people stood and waited for their next ride, drank a soda, or simply passed by from one point to the next. Tens of others could have been there at that moment but weren’t. Thousands turned their attention inward to the holy city. Millions watched on television waiting for an answer.

One story: a foreign worker decided to go to work at different hours instead of his usual schedule which would have coincided with the explosion. He was saved and wants to become a Jew!

Madness.

This one was supposed to be there and that one was supposed to be there and all of the sudden everything shifted and they weren’t the ones.

Try working through it all.

I’m supposed to be thinking creatively and can’t stop jumping back online to check the latest reports. Luckily my job isn’t monotonous and I can adjust my tasks to fit my mood.

Then I’m on the way home late at night on the 74 bus after meeting with a friend and his father from out of town. An Arab man at the bus stop looks suspicious. Why? Because he’s Arab. That’s what it comes down to right now and I hate it but sit as far away from him as I can. The 74 is a long bus…Who knows if those are truly onions in his bag…

After a while I forget about him and notice something about the streets. Except for a teenager and his girl friend making noise sitting a few sets away the city is eerily quiet, the passengers quietly still.

Rain falls and the route takes me past the scene of the attack but from the opposite side of the street; its a wide street.

It’s dark outside yet I can make out some police tape used to cordon off a small area. People walk back and forth like they always do; buses make their stops.

Victims fight for their lives, perpetrators are on the run, the world goes on. The allies are bombing Libya and I will go to sleep and wake up to a new reality, a blast from the past.