Friday, June 26, 2020

The supermarket at the mall isn’t crowded. I'm surprised. The newspapers say that challah and sliced bread now cost one shekel -- about 28 US cents -- at that chain, and chicken is one shekel per kilogram. I only see one notice, back in the bread aisle. The single sign says that challah is one shekel. There’s a lot of other text on the sign that I don’t understand. I pick up one challah and one loaf of sliced bread, as well as a package of boneless chicken thighs. I was planning to get them anyway. At the register, the cashier works quickly. He grabs the items, scans them, and flings them toward the end of the line. My bottle of wine bounces off the edge but doesn’t break. It’s the least expensive wine in the store, but I only use it for kiddush on the Sabbath. I have never understood the differences among cheap and expensive wines. They taste the same to me. In California, I was happy with Two-Buck Chuck. The cashier sings as he works. I can’t identify the song or even the language. When he rings me up, none of it registers as on sale. I don’t know enough colloquial Hebrew to argue about it. As I head toward the exit, he comes running up to me. I had forgotten to pack the bottle of wine. I thank him. At the cafe, they’ve taken down the plexiglass in front of the cashiers, as well as the arch of balloons. At least the workers are wearing their masks. I get my usual Israeli breakfast. This time, I understand the extra question about the added items. I come home in the middle of the afternoon, put the groceries away, sit down to listen to more of a podcast, and fall asleep.