Sunday mid-morning is quite a dead time in Israeli supermarkets. Usually, after the usual crowds of Friday shoppers fill their trolleys with food for shabbat and rush home to cook, the workers put everything away and lock up for the weekend. Then, on Sunday mornings, the local kids run in before school to get their “ten o’clock snack”, usually a bread roll with chocolate milk in a plastic bag, the corner of which you have to bite off to enjoy the drink, everybody’s beloved “shoko”. Sometimes, a busy office secretary will pick up some vegetables, or even a birthday cake. Then it becomes really quiet. Only the withered Moroccan grandmas with all of Israel’s wars embedded in their wrinkles, and the immaculate Russian ladies with wickedly glowing red hair collide in the aisles, discuss the prices in simple Hebrew, then part with much mutual satisfaction.
This is exactly how it was this Sunday, as well. Oren, the somnambulic vegetable guy, slowly emptied carboards boxes full of tomatoes, cucumbers and onions into the empty racks, the radio in his pocket blaring romantic songs of the past decades over the static. If you came close, you’d catch a distinct whiff of stale alcohol, sweat and cheap aftershave. Oren never spoke about his life, but it was no secret that his wife of sixteen years left him for a colleague after their son grew up, and his successes in the love front were nothing to write home about, his hopes diminishing every year. He was living a life of cheap kebabs fried in soybean oil and shoved inside a pita, football and comedies on TV, and cheap arak, and it was undoing him, slowly, but surely, and he knew it just as well as his colleagues. Radio is a poor substitute for a life partner.
Farida, an Azerbaijani woman of about fifty-five, who cleverly married a man of Jewish descent in her distant Soviet past, was now the chief manager with basic-level Hebrew without much grammar in it, and uptight, bossy manners. She considered herself a success, despite the deeply shameful fact that her husband gave up on conquering Israel from his couch and had bought a one-way ticket to Russia five years ago. She hadn’t needed a man to push her two kids through higher education with a deliberation of a well-oiled military vehicle, and now the photos of her pride and joy, her first grandchild, were hanging on the wall above her desk. Sunday morning was the time when she could chill, smoke a cigarette out of the window in her booth, savour a strong black coffee and read a newspaper in Russian, which didn’t sell on Friday and would eventually be returned to the publisher. Today she was unsuccessfully trying to reach Muhammad, the delivery man, over the phone, as he didn’t show up for work, and his partner, Hamza, was rather frustrated by the prospect of carrying everything alone. Yet, there wouldn’t be much to carry on a Sunday, Farida mused. She shouted to Oren over the aisles to help with the deliveries, if he was done with the vegetables, but Oren pretended not to hear. Farida’s fringe, dyed jet-black, flew up with her frustrated exhale, but she decided to let it be – for now.
The two active tills were manned by Leah, an Ethiopian girl with perfect features, as if chiselled out of smooth marble, and equally perfect skin, and Tanya from Ukraine, who liked to dye her hair a screaming shade of pink, and wore gothic clothes underneath her purple supermarket shirt. There were nine earrings in her left ear and five in the right, a stud going through her lower lip, and some hoops in her eyebrows. There were more piercings in places which could not be exposed at work, but everyone knew about them, anyway. There was also a tattoo of a bat, spreading its wings over the two sides of her neck, meant to symbolize death and rebirth. Tanya had been brought up by very educated and culture-loving parents, who took her to see opera from the age of six and stuffed her brain with copious amounts of recitative Russian poetry. Their cozy world crashed on them in February 2022, when Putin invaded Ukraine, and the family cut contact with all relatives who supported the war, and even attempted to switch to speaking Hebrew at home. Tanya needed a new identity urgently, and her parents were forced to accept a goth, who took the place of their book-wise little daughter almost overnight.
Tanya knew that Leah’s name wasn’t really Leah, but Tirunesh, which is what her parents named her officially, but for the convenience of the school teachers the name had to be changed, and Tanya secretly wished her parents had done the same for her, as well, while Leah resented the cultural intrusion. She was proud of her heritage, even if some things looked strange to Israelis, like carrying babies on the mother’s back in a special white sling, or eating Injera instead of regular bread. She knew how to blend in just enough to have friends of all kinds, yet remained steadfastly faithful to everything she learned at home. As a kindness to her friends, she still allowed those who knew her as Leah to continue calling her that.
An Israeli name would have made life so much easier, Tanya thought. It was a bit strange to be bullied for being Russian, as she had never even visited Russia. The girls were friends, at least while they worked and had some time to chat, like today. Leah was sharing her impression from the new TV series, as Tanya passed the products through the scanner for an old Yemenite man with shaking hands and watering eyes. He packed his things carefully, one by one, into a chequered trolley mounted on little wheels, and walked away pulling it after him, stopping briefly by the door to examine the receipt. Then again everything was quiet. Farida sent Leah to go and help the butchers by the fresh meat counter to unpack the delivery, and when she came back, Tanya was eager to share her most recent goings with her new boyfriend, Moshe. According to her, he was the most perfect man who ever existed, thoughtful, kind, and caring. He was educated enough to provide ample topics for their conversations. “He had read classics, too, when he was a kid.”- she said, a dreamy smile rising on her face. “And do you know what he did yesterday?” – Tanya was finally getting to the core of her story. She waited until Leah could focus fully on her words, just as another customer walked out with heavy bags. “He took me to the park. He packed a whole picnic, sandwiches, drinks, fruit, everything. He knows I love apples, so he baked an apple tart – by himself!” By now she was glowing. “What’s so special about an apple tart?” – said Hamza behind her back. “Or a picnic?” He was fidgeting with a cigarette in his fingers, as he was on his way out to have a smoke. “If I was courting a woman, I’d buy her chocolates from Max Brenner in Tel Aviv, and perfumes and clothes.” – he shrugged and pulled up his jeans, which had a habit of sliding down quite often. “And then, when she agrees to get married, I’d buy her jewellery. And then a car. Not apples.” – and he winked at Leah, who ignored him. “It shows that he cares enough to find out what I like, he doesn’t just get standard gifts,” – Tanya explained. – “Anyone can buy chocolates.” - and she looked at Farida for support. “Why not both? Chocolates and apples,” – Farida said from her booth. – “A good man buys proper gifts, girl.” – she stared at the girls from above her glasses, sliding them down her nose, as they were meant only for reading. Leah, who wasn’t interested in dating, made a “hurramph” noise, and turned away. “But listen…” – Tanya got her attention again. “He said he would pick me up from work today, and take me to the cinema in Jerusalem.” – “Amazing!” – Leah replied half-heartedly, thinking how she hated this talk of men and relationships, especially with Hamza standing behind her back. She wore that unshakable self-confidence, characteristic of beautiful women, just like a crown, knowing full well that when the time came, she would find a man without any difficulty. She would gladly stuff her earphones in her ears and listen to some music, but that would be quite rude, so she was stuck listening to the same stories over and over, especially since Tanya met Moshe three months ago. “Well, then we’ll finally meet him,” – she said cheerfully. “Have you even kissed yet?!” – she asked, and Tanya’s face lit up with a crimson blush, and she pretended to be busy with her phone, until the next customer asked her the price for a particular cut of beef. Later that day, the monotony was interrupted by a woman fainting outside the supermarket, and Nissim, who usually guarded the entrance with a gun he hadn’t used in fifteen years, ran clumsily to pick her up, then had to call for an ambulance. They all discussed what might have happened, with theories ranging from a heart attack to a seizure, and came to the conclusion that it was most likely a diabetic who didn’t do a good enough job monitoring her blood sugar. “It’s all because of the stupid vaccines!” – Rodrigo the butcher just would not let the issue go, and blamed every ill of the world on the pharmaceutical companies. Oren did his best to not respond to the provocation, which earned him and thankful look from Farida.
Then Farida had to deal with a kid who attempted to steal a packet of chips, and let him go with a threat of the police being called “next time”. “Well, next time he won’t be comin’ in here, don’t you think?” – Oren commented. – “You are much too nice to them!” Leah and Tanya exchanged glances. Their shift was very nearly over, and they hoped they would go home without seeing Farida locking horns with Oren, who resented having a female boss, yet again.
“Well, he has a mother, too, I was thinking of her,” – Farida shrugged. – “And in the end, he didn’t manage to steal anything.” Oren went back to the vegetables without giving a reply, and continued trimming the leaves off the cauliflowers with a sharp knife, his radio now broadcasting a comedy show. Farida lit up another cigarette, which was strictly illegal, of course, but she tried to stay close to her window.
“Geveret!” – an old man in faded polyester trousers and a shirt that used to be white decades ago was suddenly shouting at her. “It makes your lungs black like soot!” The tassels on his white ‘Rabbi Nachman’ kippa were rocking back and forth as he shook a finger at her. “Not good! It will give you wrinkles and make you old and ugly, and if you continue, it will give you the accursed disease, may its name be erased!” Leah and Tanya saw some of the customers nodding in ascent. “It’s so ugly when women smoke! Ew!” – a woman muttered, lifting her goods onto the belt of the till. The man shuffled to the transparent plastic wall, which separated Farida’s booth office from the tills, his long white beard getting in the way of his bags. “Drop the poison, Geveret!” Farida, who had been a smoker since her early teens, and had absolutely no intention of stopping, glared at him over her glasses. “And you know this… old and ugly… from experience?” – she retorted. “Me? God forbid!” – he made a motion of spitting on the floor. “I merely keep the holy Torah, where it says we must protect our health! Here…” – he started fumbling with the ties of his cloth bag, and eventually produced a leaflet with a few Psalms printed on it, and a red string. – “If you say these, and tie the string on your right wrist, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will fulfil…”
“Get out.” – Farida’s tone had left no room for argument. “Out. Now!” She had very little patience for “fanatics” or for people who tried to “teach her how to live life”, as she would say.
“She is not Jewish,” – Hamza had to add in his heavy accent. – “She’s Muslim, like me.” The old man gave him a look of absolute blazing resentment, then walked away. Farida let out a bellowing laugh, and even Leah allowed herself to chuckle.
Just then, there was a commotion by the entrance, and they saw Nissim helping a man get a Zimmer frame up the inclined ramp. Above the frame, a large bouquet of yellow sunflowers was being waved around with the effort of every step, concealing his face. “Moshe is here!” – Tanya breathed, and ran up to accept the flowers, leaving the till to Natahsa, who arrived not even five minutes ago. Beaming, she walked beside him back into the shop. Moshe’s knees were knocking into each other with every step, his heels turned outwards and lifted awkwardly, so that he almost walked on tiptoes. His arms seemed unnaturally tense, clutching the frame with all his might, and shaking with the effort. “You came! I am so happy!” – Tanya gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then proceeded to introduce everybody, her burning glare warning them to not even dare think of saying something about the Zimmer frame or ask about his condition, now or ever. “I am so pleased to meet you all,” – Moshe said with a slight French accent, his jaw moving in the same spasmed way from side to side, and distorting his speech, but they all understood. His eyes were so dark, they almost looked black, their expression soft, but confident. “You are so lucky to have my Tanya as a colleague!” – he added, making her blush again, and brushed his long hair out of his face with the back of his hand. Leah held her phone so tightly that her knuckles stood out, becoming almost white, then got up and went to shake his hand, making him let go of the frame for a second. “Nice to meet you!” – she said. Moshe nodded to her, Tanya ran to get her bag, and then they walked out slowly, with Tanya hugging her flowers, to the grey “Honda” Moshe left in the disabled spot right by the door. Nissim got up again to help with the Zimmer frame, and then they were gone.
“How does he drive?” – Oren said into the silence.
“Who cares?” – Farida answered, as she lit her sixth cigarette for the day. She looked thoughtful, almost sad. “There are many wonders in this country.”
