We were leaving a party in Jerusalem and decided to forego the bus back to Tel Aviv and make a dash to the hotel. We got into a random taxi outside the Dung Gate (a highly memorable designation) of the old city and the driver was of Saphardic descent. My wife asked: are you going to kill us? If you don’t, I will give you extra 100 Shekels; can’t deny her logic, its good to incentive-ize people. After we safely made it back we planned dinner. Another ostensibly less threatening taxi ride ensued where we argued the merits of a traditional Arab meal vs. the Israeli counterpart. You can imagine who took which side between my wife and I with the cab driver weighing in of course…it is Israel. After a salad and meat packed feast, my 15 year old’s face began to alarmingly swell, amidst a breakout of hives. So we had an after dinner drink at Tel Aviv’s very busy emergency ward—where the ambulances were demarcated as originating from New Jersey—I guess its hard to find good health care in the State’s nowadays. A little Cortisone and three hours later he was good to go.
In the morning I went for a run, with my glasses—had I gone without like last time in the rain, the ramifications could have triggered an international incident. When you think of the (sometimes heavy-handed) politics of the region, there is no reason the Jews, long persecuted, and Palestinians should not have peaceful places to prosper and co-exist. I went to the historical, stunning Arab city of Jaffa. I passed a gallery with kitschy, cartoonish paintings like a Palestinian Peter Saul—I actually ran through the exhibition; I am sure there is a joke there but I am not going to search. When I (barely) made it back in the scorching midday 30+ degree heat, I plopped down on a hotel bench and the security guard reprimanded me: “don’t sit after you run.” It is Israel after all.
Kenny Schachter
