Saturday, December 19th, 2020

The Sabbath cafe is open, though only for coffee and pastries and only for take-out. I spot the open doors as I walk past. I wander in. At first, I don’t see anyone there. A young woman comes out from the back. She’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, not the usual uniform. She steps behind the counter to the coffee machine. “What would you like?” Coffee and a pastry. “Large or small coffee?” Large. She makes a large cappuccino. That’s the default if you just order coffee. “Which pastry?” There are two left in the case. I get the almond danish. “Heated?” Yes. She steps back out and goes to the register. It’s at the far side of the room. Another man comes in as she’s ringing up the check. He peppers her with questions. “Are you open?” Yes. “Do you have sandwiches?” No, just coffee. “Salads?” No, just coffee. “Smoothies?” No. He walks away. She comes over to me with the check. It’s twenty five shekels, twice what I would pay elsewhere. But they’re the only place open, and their food is good. I pay cash. She goes back to the register and gets my change. I put sweetener in my coffee and find a lid that fits. I cross the street to the city square and sit down. It’s quiet. A couple of families bicycle past. I can relax. I have time. The cleaner won’t be at my house for a few more hours. From one of the open windows above the square, I can hear a family singing the traditional hymns sung at Sabbath lunch. They’re out of tune. It doesn’t matter. They sing. I eat. It isn’t raining. It’s a good afternoon.