Saturday, February 13th, 2021

Fringed, colored banners on wires zigzag above the city square. The cadence repeats: white, blue, yellow, red, orange; white, blue, yellow, red, orange. At first glance, some stretches look like they run in reverse. After a moment, I realize that I’m seeing the sequence from the other side. They cross the road and run along the main street at least as far as the Great Synagogue. I can’t see any further from here. The Sabbath cafe is closed, even for takeout. Last week, when the lockdown was tighter, it was open. I have to go to a different shop to get coffee. When the worker hands it to me without a lid, I try to ask for one, but can’t remember the word. I try a gesture, covering the cup with my hand. He thinks, for some reason, that I want a receipt. He prints one out. I try again, using the English word “lid.” “Oh,” he mumbles, followed by a Hebrew word I can’t quite hear. “We don’t have --” he mumbles what I think is the same word. I take my coffee and carry it carefully to the city square. I step around dogs and obstacles, and trace the path of banners: orange, red, yellow, blue, white; orange, red, yellow, blue, white.