Sunday, November 8th, 2020

When I get to work, people greet me with “Mazal Tov” and pepper me with questions about the election. The big question, of course, is whether the new guy will be good for this country. I think so, but people mean different things by that. I haven’t missed much in my week off. I talk with my direct boss and show him how to use some software he needs. I get back to work, doing what I, apparently, do best: going through a lot of text on screens, following a careful path to reach all of them, and fixing the English. On my way home, I find the dance party in the city square in full swing. Someone has hooked up speakers to a phone. They boom out a bass-heavy cover of “Stand by Me” in mixed Hebrew and English. Purple and green lights flash with the rhythm. The street-facing shops are open again. A long line of modestly-dressed women stretches into the square from a shoe store. Under the new rules, no more than four customers can be in a shop at one time. Four boys in black and white, with their tzitzit flapping, use the chairs and tables on the square as a jungle gym. I stop into the burger joint to get my usual order. Three older boys in green soccer uniforms talk to the workers, showing them something on their phones. I think they may be intentionally trying to confuse the grownups. Neither the boss nor the cashier that I’ve gotten to know are there. I start to try to order in Hebrew. I forget how to say “mushroom.” The worker from whom I’m ordering calls over another one with better English. “We’ll have to put it in a bag to go, but you are welcome to sit here while you wait.” I do. They fill my order quickly. I head out, passing the three boys, who are rough-housing on the astroturf outside the pizza joint next door. I pause, put on yet another election post-mortem podcast, and wander home.