Saturday, July 11, 2020

As I walk onto the patio at the Sabbath cafe, I hear a volley of viscous thuds above me. I look up. The square white umbrellas that cover the space are dotted with stains. They don’t only protect us from the sun. I pull my phone out to scan the icons on the table that bring up menus. Scanning is easy. Finding the scanning app on the phone is hard. I spot it and hold the phone over the table. The server comes over. “Are you ready to order?” I try to remember how to say “Not yet” in Hebrew. I hear myself say it in English. She switches languages easily. “Would you like me to bring you a menu in English?” I think of boldly going with the Hebrew menu again. We’re already speaking English, though. I’ve blown my credibility. I say yes. She brings one over. I order the Israeli Breakfast. More people are dining on the patio today than last week. Several are smoking. Most of those, but not all, are smoking tobacco. The fumes drift past me in the shifting breezes. Some make me cough. Some don’t. As I eat, I read articles on my phone about the intricacies of identity and community in the works of a Korean pop band and its fans. Intriguing stuff. I’ll have to look into it some more. Later, I follow the live feed from a local news site. Ten thousand people are rallying and marching in a nearby city, protesting what the government is doing about the economy. It's all going precisely on schedule. Usually, I wish I had heard about these things in time to participate. This time, I don’t understand what’s going on well enough to want to protest. I suspect that the government, in the time of crisis, is continuing to improvise as well as it can with the information it has. I have to work tomorrow. I’m glad I stayed home.